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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
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University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


https://archive.org/details/littlewomenormeg00alco_1 


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Little  Women 


Slltil 


Little  Women 


OR 

Meg,  Jo,  Beth ,  and  Amy 


Louisa  M.  Alcott 


Illustrated  by 

Alice  Barber  Stephens 


Boston 

Little,  Brown,  and  Company 

1918 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  years  1868  and  1869,  by 

LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT, 

In  the  Clerk’s  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts* 

Copyright ,  1 8  So , 

By  Louisa  M.  Alcott. 

Copyright ,  i8q6, 

By  J.  S.  P.  Alcott. 

Copyright ,  iqo2,  jqio, 

By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company, 

All  rights  reserved 


Printers 

B.  J.  Parkhill  &  Co.,  Boston,  U.  8.  A. 


P  reface 


u  Go  then ,  my  little  Book ,  and  show  to  all 
That  entertain  and  bid  thee  welcome  shall , 

What  thou  dost  keep  close  shut  up  in  thy  breast; 

And  wish  what  thou  dost  show  them  may  be  blest 
To  them  for  good ,  may  make  them  choose  to  be 
Pilgrims  better ,  by  far ,  than  thee  or  me. 

Tell  them  of  Mercy ;  she  is  one 
Who  early  hath  her  pilgrimage  begun. 

Yea,  let  young  damsels  learn  of  her  to  prize 
The  world  which  is  to  co?ne,  and  so  be  wise; 

For  little  tripping  maids  may  follow  God 
Along  the  ways  which  saintly  feet  have  trod.” 

Adapted  from  John  Bunyan. 


Contents 


Part  First 

Chapter  Page 

I.  Playing  Pilgrims .  i 

II.  A  Merry  Christmas . 15 

III.  The  Laurence  Boy . 28 

IV.  Burdens . 42 

V.  Being  Neighborly . 57 

VI.  Beth  finds  the  Palace  Beautiful  ....  72 

VII.  Amy’s  Valley  of  Humiliation . 81 

VIII.  Jo  meets  Apollyon . 90 

IX.  Meg  goes  to  Vanity  Fair . 103 

X.  The  P.  C.  and  P.  0 . 124 

XI.  Experiments . 134 

XII.  Camp  Laurence . 149 

XIII.  Castles  in  the  Air . 173 

XIV.  Secrets . 185 

XV.  A  Telegram . 197 

♦ 

XVI.  Letters . 208 

XVII.  Little  Faithful . 217 

XVII I.  Dark  Days . 226 

XIX.  Amy’s  Will . 237 

XX.  Confidential . 247 

XXL  Laurie  makes  Mischief  and  Jo  makes  Peace  256 

XXII.  Pleasant  Meadows . 27l 

XXIII.  Aunt  March  settles  the  Question  ....  279 


viii  Contents 

Part  Second 

Chapter  Page 

XXIV.  Gossip . 295 

XXV.  The  First  Wedding . 310 

XXVI.  Artistic  Attempts . 318 

XXVII.  Literary  Lessons . 331 

XXVI II.  Domestic  Experiences . 341 

XXIX.  Calls . 359 

XXX.  Consequences . 375 

XXXI.  Our  Foreign  Correspondent . 390 

XXXII.  Tender  Troubles . 403 

XXXIII.  Jo’s  Journal . 418 

XXXIV.  A  Friend . 433 

XXXV.  Heartache . 452 

XXXVI.  Beth’s  Secret . 466 

XXXVII.  New  Impressions . 473 

XXXVIII.  On  the  Shelf . 487 

XXXIX.  Lazy  Laurence . 503 

XL.  The  Valley  of  the  Shadow . 520 

XLI.  Learning  to  Forget . 527 

XLII.  All  Alone . 543 

XLIII.  Surprises . 553 

XLIV.  My  Lord  and  Lady . 573 

XLV.  Daisy  and  Demi . 579 

XLVI.  Under  the  Umbrella . 587 

XLVII.  Harvest  Time . 604 


List  of  Illustrations 

I 

From  Drawings  by  Alice  Barber  Stephens 

Page 

“  They  turned  to  welcome  a  tall  motherly  lady  ”  .  Frontispiece 

“‘A  regular  note  of  invitation  from  Mrs.  Gardner  for  to¬ 
morrow  nigh* P  cried  Meg” .  29 

*“  Finish  the  chapter,  and  don’t  be  impertinent,  Miss’”  .  .  52 

“  He  just  set  her  on  his  knee  and  laid  his  wrinkled  cheek 

against  her  rosy  one  ” . 80 

“  ‘  O  mother,  what  shall  I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  ?  ’  cried  poor 

Jo  ” . 99 

“Quite  absorbed  in  her  work,  Jo  scribbled  away  ”  .  .  .  185 

“Wrapping  her  head  in  the  paper,  she  bedewed  her  little 

story  with  a  few  natural  tears” . 197 

v‘She  talked  away  all  the  time  the  man  clipped,  and  diverted 

my  mind  nicely  ’  ” . 205 

“  It  was  her  favorite  amusement  to  array  herself  in  the  faded 

brocades  ” . 243 

“  She  just  tucked  her  cane  under  her  arm,  and  hopped  briskly 

away  to  join  hands  with  the  rest” . 3T^ 

“‘I’m  perfectly  miserable  ;  but  if  you  consider  me  present¬ 
able,  I  die  happy’  ” . 362 

“  ‘  O  Teddy,  I  *m  so  sorry,  so  desperately  sorry’  ”  .  .  .  .  4 55 

“  A  flock  of  splendid  peacocks  came  trooping  about  them, 

tamely  waiting  to  be  fed  ” . 477 

“Jo  laid  her  head  down  on  a  comfortable  rag-bag  and  cried  552 
“‘Can  you  make  a  little  place  in  your  heart  for  old  Fritz  ?  59^ 


Little  LFomen 


CHAPTER  I 

PLAYING  PILGRIMS 

41  HRISTMAS  won’t  be  Christmas  without  any 

I  presents,”  grumbled  Jo,  lying  on  the  rug. 

“It’s  so  dreadful  to  be  poor!”  sighed 
Meg,  looking  down  at  her  old  dress. 

“  I  don’t  think  it ’s  fair  for  some  girls  to  have  plenty 
of  pretty  things,  and  other  girls  nothing  at  all,”  added 
little  Amy,  with  an  injured  sniff. 

“  We ’ve  got  father  and  mother  and  each  other,” 
said  Beth  contentedly,  from  her  corner. 

The  four  young  faces  on  which  the  firelight  shone 
brightened  at  the  cheerful  words,  but  darkened  again 
as  Jo  said  sadly, — 

“  We  have  n’t  got  father,  and  shall  not  have  him  for  a 
long  time.”  She  did  n’t  say  “  perhaps  never,”  but  each 
silently  added  it,  thinking  of  father  far  away,  where  the 
fighting  was. 

Nobody  spoke  for  a  minute;  then  Meg  said  in  an 
altered  tone,  — 

“  You  know  the  reason  mother  proposed  not  having 
any  presents  this  Christmas  was  because  it  is  going  to 
be  a  hard  winter  for  every  one  ;  and  she  thinks  we 
ought  not  to  spend  money  for  pleasure,  when  our  men 


2 


Little  Women 


are  suffering  so  in  the  army.  We  can’t  do  much,  but 
we  can  make  our  little  sacrifices,  and  ought  to  do  it 
gladly.  But  I  am  afraid  I  don’t;  ”  and  Meg  shook  her 
head,  as  she  thought  regretfully  of  all  the  pretty  things 
she  wanted. 

“  But  I  don’t  think  the  little  we  should  spend  would 
do  any  good.  We’ve  each  got  a  dollar,  and  the  army 
would  n’t  be  much  helped  by  our  giving  that.  I  agree 
not  to  expect  anything  from  mother  or  you,  but  I  do 
want  to  buy  Undine  and  Sintram  for  myself ;  I ’ve 
wanted  it  so  long,”  said  Jo,  who  was  a  bookworm. 

“  I  planned  to  spend  mine  in  new  music,”  said  Beth, 
with  a  little  sigh,  which  no  one  heard  but  the  hearth¬ 
brush  and  kettle-holder. 

“  I  shall  get  a  nice  box  of  Faber’s  drawing-pencils;  I 
really  need  them,”  said  Amy  decidedly. 

“  Mother  did  n’t  say  anything  about  our  money,  and 
she  won’t  wish  us  to  give  up  everything.  Let ’s  each 
buy  what  we  want,  and  have  a  little  fun ;  I ’m  sure  we 
work  hard  enough  to  earn  it,”  cried  Jo,  examining  the 
heels  of  her  shoes  in  a  gentlemanly  manner. 

“  I  know  /  do,  —  teaching  those  tiresome  children 
nearly  all  day,  when  I  ’m  longing  to  enjoy  myself  at 
home,”  began  Meg,  in  the  complaining  tone  again. 

“You  don’t  have  half  such  a  hard  time  as  I  do,”  said 
Jo.  “  How  would  you  like  to  be  shut  up  for  hours 
with  a  nervous,  fussy  old  lady,  who  keeps  you  trotting, 
is  never  satisfied,  and  worries  you  till  you  ’re  ready  to 
fly  out  of  the  window  or  cry?” 

“  It’s  naughty  to  fret;  but  I  do  think  washing  dishes 
and  keeping  things  tidy  is  the  worst  work  in  the  world. 
It  makes  me  cross  ;  and  my  hands  get  so  stiff,  I  can't 
practise  well  at  all  ;  ”  and  Beth  looked  at  her  rough 
hands  with  a  sigh  that  any  one  could  hear  that  time. 


Playing  Pilgrims  3 

“  I  don’t  believe  any  of  you  suffer  as  I  do,”  cried 
Amy ;  “  for  you  don’t  have  to  go  to  school  with  imper¬ 
tinent  girls,  who  plague  you  if  you  don’t  know  your 
lessons,  and  laugh  at  your  dresses,  and  label  your  father 

if  he  is  n’t  rich,  and  insult  you  when  your  nose  is  n’t 

•  }) 
nice. 

“  If  you  mean  libel ,  I ’d  say  so,  and  not  talk  about 
labels ,  as  if  papa  was  a  pickle-bottle,”  advised  Jo, 
laughing. 

“  I  know  what  I  mean,  and  you  need  n’t  be  statirical 
about  it.  It ’s  proper  to  use  good  words,  and  improve 
your  vocabilary ,”  returned  Amy,  with  dignity. 

“  Don’t  peck  at  one  another,  children.  Don’t  you 
wish  we  had  the  money  papa  lost  when  we  were  little, 
Jo?  Dear  me  !  how  happy  and  good  we ’d  be,  if  we 
had  no  worries !  ”  said  Meg,  who  could  remember  better 
times. 

“You  said,  the  other  day,  you  thought  we  were  a 
deal  happier  than  the  King  children,  for  they  were 
fighting  and  fretting  all  the  time,  in  spite  of  their 
money.” 

“  So  I  did,  Beth.  Well,  I  think  we  are ;  for,  though 
we  do  have  to  work,  we  make  fun  for  ourselves,  and  are 
a  pretty  jolly  set,  as  Jo  would  say.” 

“  Jo  does  use  such  slang  words  !  ”  observed  Amy,  with 
a  reproving  look  at  the  long  figure  stretched  on  the  rug. 
Jo  immediately  sat  up,  put  her  hands  in  her  pockets,  and 
began  to  whistle. 

“  Don’t,  Jo  ;  it ’s  so  boyish  !  ” 

“That’s  why  I  do  it.” 

“  I  detest  rude,  unlady-like  girls !  ” 

“  I  hate  affected,  niminy-piminy  chits !  ” 

“  ‘  Birds  in  their  little  nests  agree,’  ”  sang  Beth,  the 
peace-maker,  with  such  a  funny  face  that  both  sharp 


4  Little  Women 

voices  softened  to  a  laugh,  and  the  “  pecking  ”  ended 
for  that  time. 

“  Really,  girls,  you  are  both  to  be  blamed,”  said  Megs 
beginning  to  lecture  in  her  elder-sisterly  fashion.  “You 
are  old  enough  to  leave  off  boyish  tricks,  and  to  behave 
better,  Josephine.  It  didn’t  matter  so  much  when  you 
were  a  little  girl ;  but  now  you  are  so  tall,  and  turn  up 
your  hair,  you  should  remember  that  you  are  a  young 
lady.” 

“  I ’m  not !  and  if  turning  up  my  hair  makes  me  one, 
I  ’ll  wear  it  in  two  tails  till  I ’m  twenty,”  cried  Jo,  pulling 
off  her  net,  and  shaking  down  a  chestnut  mane.  “  I  hate 
to  think  I ’ve  got  to  grow  up,  and  be  Miss  March,  and 
wear  long  gowns,  and  look  as  prim  as  a  China-aster  ! 
It’s  bad  enough  to  be  a  girl,  anyway,  when  I  like  boys’ 
games  and  work  and  manners  !  I  can’t  get  over  my 
disappointment  in  not  being  a  boy;  and  it’s  worse  than 
ever  now,  for  I ’m  dying  to  go  and  fight  with  papa,  and 
I  can  only  stay  at  home  and  knit,  like  a  poky  old 
woman  !  ”  And  Jo  shook  the  blue  army-sock  till  the 
needles  rattled  like  castanets,  and  her  ball  bounded 
across  the  room. 

“Poor  Jo!  It’s  too  bad,  but  it  can’t  be  helped;  so 
you  must  try  to  be  contented  with  making  your  name 
boyish,  and  playing  brother  to  us  girls,”  said  Beth, 
stroking  the  rough  head  at  her  knee  with  a  hand  that 
all  the  dish-washing  and  dusting  in  the  world  could  not 
make  ungentle  in  its  touch. 

“As  for  you,  Amy,”  continued  Meg,  “you  are  alto¬ 
gether  too  particular  and  prim.  Your  airs  are  funny 
now;  but  you  ’ll  grow  up  an  affected  little  goose,  if  you 
don’t  take  care.  I  like  your  nice  manners  and  refined 
ways  of  speaking,  when  you  don’t  try  to  be  elegant;  but 
your  absurd  words  are  as  bad  as  Jo’s  slang.” 


Playing  Pilgrims  5 

“If  Jo  is  a  tom-boy  and  Amy  a  goose,  what  am  I, 
please?”  asked  Beth,  ready  to  share  the  lecture. 

“You’re  a  dear,  and  nothing  else,”  answered  Meg 
warmly;  and  no  one  contradicted  her,  for  the  “  Mouse  ” 
was  the  pet  of  the  family. 

As  young  readers  like  to  know  “  how  people  look,” 
we  will  take  this  moment  to  give  them  a  little  sketch  of 
the  four  sisters,  who  sat  knitting  away  in  the  twilight, 
while  the  December  snow  fell  quietly  without,  and  the 
fire  crackled  cheerfully  within.  It  was  a  comfortable 
old  room,  though  the  carpet  was  faded  and  the  furniture 
very  plain  ;  for  a  good  picture  or  two  hung  on  the  walls, 
books  filled  the  recesses,  chrysanthemums  and  Christmas 
roses  bloomed  in  the  windows,  and  a  pleasant  atmos¬ 
phere  of  home-peace  pervaded  it. 

Margaret,  the  eldest  of  the  four,  was  sixteen,  and  very 
pretty,  being  plump  and  fair,  with  large  eyes,  plenty  of 
soft,  brown  hair,  a  sweet  mouth,  and  white  hands,  of 
which  she  was  rather  vain.  Fifteen-year-old  Jo  was 
very  tall,  thin,  and  brown,  and  reminded  one  of  a  colt; 
for  she  never  seemed  to  know  what  to  do  with  her  long 
limbs,  which  were  very  much  in  her  way.  She  had  a 
decided  mouth,  a  comical  nose,  and  sharp,  gray  eyes, 
which  appeared  to  see  everything,  and  were  by  turns 
fierce,  funny,  or  thoughtful.  Her  long,  thick  hair  was 
her  one  beauty;  but  it  was  usually  bundled  into  a  net, 
to  be  out  of  her  way.  Round  shoulders  had  Jo,  big 
hands  and  feet,  a  fly-away  look  to  her  clothes,  and  the 
uncomfortable  appearance  of  a  girl  who  was  rapidly 
shooting  up  into  a  woman,  and  did  n’t  like  it.  Elizabeth 
—  or  Beth,  as  every  one  called  her  —  was  a  rosy,  smooth¬ 
haired,  bright-eyed  girl  of  thirteen,  with  a  shy  manner, 
a  timid  voice,  and  a  peaceful  expression,  which  was 
seldom  disturbed.  Her  father  called  her  “Little  Tran- 


6 


Little  Women 


quillity,”  and  the  name  suited  her  excellently;  for  she 
seemed  to  live  in  a  happy  world  of  her  own,  only  ven¬ 
turing  out  to  meet  the  few  whom  she  trusted  and  loved. 
Amy,  though  the  youngest,  was  a  most  important  per¬ 
son,  —  in  her  own  opinion  at  least.  A  regular  snow- 
maiden,  with  blue  eyes,  and  yellow  hair,  curling  on  her 
shoulders,  pale  and  slender,  and  always  carrying  herself 
like  a  young  lady  mindful  of  her  manners.  What  the 
characters  of  the  four  sisters  were  we  will  leave  to  be 
found  out. 

The  clock  struck  six ;  and,  having  swept  up  the 
hearth,  Beth  put  a  pair  of  slippers  down  to  warm. 
Somehow  the  sight  of  the  old  shoes  had  a  good  effect 
upon  the  girls ;  for  mother  was  coming,  and  every  one 
brightened  to  welcome  her.  Meg  stopped  lecturing, 
and  lighted  the  lamp,  Amy  got  out  of  the  easy-chair 
without  being  asked,  and  Jo  forgot  how  tired  she 
was  as  she  sat  up  to  hold  the  slippers  nearer  to  the 
blaze. 

“  They  are  quite  worn  out;  Marmee  must  have  a  new 
pair.” 

“  I  thought  I ’d  get  her  some  with  my  dollar,”  said 
Beth. 

“  No,  I  shall !  ”  cried  Amy. 

“  I ’m  the  oldest,”  began  Meg,  but  Jo  cut  in  with 
a  decided  — 

“  I  ’m  the  man  of  the  family  now  papa  is  away,  and  1 
shall  provide  the  slippers,  for  he  told  me  to  take  special 
care  of  mother  while  he  was  gone.” 

“  I  ’ll  tell  you  what  we  ’ll  do,”  said  Beth  ;  “  let ’s  each 
get  her  something  for  Christmas,  and  not  get  anything 
for  ourselves.” 

“That’s  like  you,  dear!  What  will  we  get?  "ex¬ 
claimed  Jo. 


Playing  Pilgrims  7 

Every  one  thought  soberly  for  a  minute ;  then  Meg 
announced,  as  if  the  idea  was  suggested  by  the  sight  of 
her  own  pretty  hands,  “  I  shall  give  her  a  nice  pair  of 
gloves.” 

“  Army  shoes,  best  to  be  had,”  cried  Jo. 

“  Some  handkerchiefs,  all  hemmed,”  said  Beth. 

“  I  ’ll  get  a  little  bottle  of  cologne ;  she  likes  it,  and  it 
won’t  cost  much,  so  I  ’ll  have  some  left  to  buy  my  pen¬ 
cils,”  added  Amy. 

“  How  will  we  give  the  things?  ”  asked  Meg. 

“  Put  them  on  the  table,  and  bring  her  in  and  see  her 
open  the  bundles.  Don’t  you  remember  how  we  used 
to  do  on  our  birthdays?  ”  answered  Jo. 

“I  used  to  be  so  frightened  when  it  was  my  turn  to  sit 
in  the  big  chair  with  the  crown  on,  and  see  you  all 
come  marching  round  to  give  the  presents,  with  a  kiss. 
I  liked  the  things  and  the  kisses,  but  it  was  dreadful  to 
have  you  sit  looking  at  me  while  I  opened  the  bundles,” 
said  Beth,  who  was  toasting  her  face  and  the  bread  for 
tea,  at  the  same  time. 

“  Let  Marmee  think  we  are  getting  things  for  our¬ 
selves,  and  then  surprise  her.  We  must  go  shopping 
to-morrow  afternoon,  Meg;  there  is  so  much  to  do 
about  the  play  for  Christmas  night,”  said  Jo,  marching 
up  and  down,  with  her  hands  behind  her  back  and  her 
nose  in  the  air. 

“  I  don’t  mean  to  act  any  more  after  this  time ;  I ’m 
getting  too  old  for  such  things,”  observed  Meg,  who  was 
as  much  a  child  as  ever  about  “  dressing-up  ”  frolics. 

“  You  won’t  stop,  I  know,  as  long  as  you  can  trail 
round  in  a  white  gown  with  your  hair  down,  and  wear 
gold-paper  jewelry.  You  are  the  best  actress  we’ve 
got,  and  there  ’ll  be  an  end  of  everything  if  you  quit  the 
boards,”  said  Jo.  “  We  ought  to  rehearse  to-night, 


8 


Little  Women 


Come  here,  Amy,  and  do  the  fainting  scene,  for  you  are 
as  stiff  as  a  poker  in  that.” 

“  I  can’t  help  it;  I  never  saw  anyone  faint,  and  I 
don’t  choose  to  make  myself  all  black  and  blue,  tumbling 
flat  as  you  do.  If  I  can  go  down  easily,  I  ’ll  drop  ;  if  I 
can’t,  I  shall  fall  into  a  chair  and  be  graceful ;  I  don’t 
care  if  Hugo  does  come  at  me  with  a  pistol,”  returned 
Amy,  who  was  not  gifted  with  dramatic  power,  but  was 
chosen  because  she  was  small  enough  to  be  borne  out 
shrieking  by  the  villain  of  the  piece. 

“Do  it  this  way;  clasp  your  hands  so,  and  stagger 
across  the  room  ,  crying  frantically,  •  ‘  Roderigo  !  save 
me!  save  me!’”  and  away  went  Jo,  with  a  melodra¬ 
matic  scream  which  was  truly  thrilling. 

Amy  followed,  but  she  poked  her  hands  out  stiffly 
before  her,  and  jerked  herself  along  as  if  she  went  by 
machinery;  and  her  “  Ow !  ”  was  more  suggestive  of 
pins  being  run  into  her  than  of  fear  and  anguish.  Jo 
gave  a  despairing  groan,  and  Meg  laughed  outri  ght, 
while  Beth  let  her  bread  burn  as  she  watched  the  fun, 
with  interest. 

“  It ’s  no  use  !  Do  the  best  you  can  when  the  time 
comes,  and  if  the  audience  laugh,  don’t  blame  me. 
Come  on,  Meg.” 

Then  things  went  smoothly,  for  Don  Pedro  defied  the 
world  in  a  speech  of  two  pages  without  a  single  break ; 
Hagar,  the  witch,  chanted  an  awful  incantation  over  her 
kettleful  of  simmering  toads,  with  weird  effect;  Roderigo 
rent  his  chains  asunder  manfully,  and  Hugo  died  in 
agonies  of  remorse  and  arsenic,  with  a  wild  “  Ha !  ha !  ” 

“  It ’s  the  best  we ’ve  had  yet,”  said  Meg,  as  the  dead 
villain  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  elbows. 

“  I  don’t  see  how  you  can  write  and  act  such  splendid 
things,  Jo.  You  ’re  a  regular  Shakespeare  !  ”  exclaimed 


Playing  Pilgrims  9 

Beth,  who  firmly  believed  that  her  sisters  were  gifted 
with  wonderful  genius  in  all  things. 

“  Not  quite,”  replied  Jo  modestly.  “I  do  think,  ‘  The 
Witch’s  Curse,  an  Operatic  Tragedy,’  is  rather  a  nice 
thing;  but  I’d  like  to  try  Macbeth,  if  we  only  had 
a  trap-door  for  Banquo.  I  always  wanted  to  do  the 
killing  part.  ‘  Is  that  a. dagger  that  I  see  before  me?’” 
muttered  Jo,  rolling  her  eyes  and  clutching  at  the  air,  as 
she  had  seen  a  famous  tragedian  do. 

“  No,  it ’s  the  toasting  fork,  with  mother’s  shoe  on 
it  instead  of  the  bread.  Beth’s  stage-struck!”  cried 
Meg,  and  the  rehearsal  ended  in  a  general  burst  of 
laughter. 

“  Glad  to  find  you  so  merry,  my  girls,”  said  a  cheery 
voice  at  the  door,  and  actors  and  audience  turned  to 
welcome  a  tall,  motherly  lady,  with  a  “  can-I-help-you  ” 
look  about  her  which  was  truly  delightful.  She  was  not 
elegantly  dressed,  but  a  noble-looking  woman,  and  the 
girls  thought  the  gray  cloak  and  unfashionable  bonnet 
covered  the  most  splendid  mother  in  the  world. 

“Well,  dearies,  how  have  you  got  on  to-day?  There 
was  so  much  to  do,  getting  the  boxes  ready  to  go  to¬ 
morrow,  that  I  did  n’t  come  home  to  dinner.  Has  any 
one  called,  Beth?  How  is  your  cold,  Meg?  Jo,  you 
look  tired  to  death.  Come  and  kiss  me,  baby.” 

While  making  these  maternal  inquiries  Mrs.  March 
got  her  wet  things  off,  her  warm  slippers  on,  and  sitting 
down  in  the  easy-chair,  drew  Amy  to  her  lap,  preparing 
to  enjoy  the  happiest  hour  of  her  busy  day.  The  girls 
flew  about,  trying  to  make  things  comfortable,  each  in 
her  own  way.  Meg  arranged  the  tea-table;  Jo  brought 
wood  and  set  chairs,  dropping,  overturning,  and  clatter¬ 
ing  everything  she  touched ;  Beth  trotted  to  and  fro 
between  parlor  and  kitchen,  quiet  and  busy;  while 


io  Little  Women 

Amy  gave  directions  to  every  one,  as  she  sat  with  her 
hands  folded. 

As  they  gathered  about  the  table,  Mrs.  March  said, 
with  a  particularly  happy  face,  “  I  Ve  got  a  treat  for  you 
after  supper.” 

A  quick,  bright  smile  went  round  like  a  streak  of  sun¬ 
shine.  Beth  clapped  her  hands,  regardless  of  the  bis¬ 
cuit  she  held,  and  Jo  tossed  up  her  napkin,  crying, 
“  A  letter  !  a  letter !  Three  cheers  for  father !  ” 

“  Yes,  a  nice  long  letter.  He  is  well,  and  thinks  he 
shall  get  through  the  cold  season  better  than  we  feared. 
He  sends  all  sorts  of  loving  wishes  for  Christmas,  and 
an  especial  message  to  you  girls,”  said  Mrs.  March, 
patting  her  pocket  as  if  she  had  got  a  treasure  there. 

“  Hurry  and  get  done !  Don’t  stop  to  quirk  your 
little  finger,  and  simper  over  your  plate,  Amy,”  cried 
Jo,  choking  in  her  tea,  and  dropping  her  bread,  butter 
side  down,  on  the  carpet,  in  her  haste  to  get  at  the 
treat. 

Beth  ate  no  more,  but  crept  away,  to  sit  in  her  shadowy 
corner  and  brood  over  the  delight  to  come,  till  the  others 
were  ready. 

“  I  think  it  was  so  splendid  in  father  to  go  as  a  chap¬ 
lain  when  he  was  too  old  to  be  drafted,  and  not  strong 
enough  for  a  soldier,”  said  Meg  warmly. 

“Don’t  I  wish  I  could  go  as  a  drummer,  a  vivan  — 
what’s  its  name?  or  a  nurse,  so  I  could  be  near  him  and 
help  him,”  exclaimed  Jo,  with  a  groan. 

“  It  must  be  very  disagreeable  to  sleep  in  a  tent,  and 
eat  all  sorts  of  bad-tasting  things,  and  drink  out  of  a  tin 
mug,”  sighed  Amy. 

“When  will  he  come  home,  Marmee?”  asked  Beth, 
with  a  little  quiver  in  her  voice. 

“  Not  for  many  months,  dear,  unless  he  is  sick.  He 


Playing  Pilgrims  1 1 

will  stay  and  do  his  work  faithfully  as  long  as  he  can, 
and  we  won’t  ask  for  him  back  a  minute  sooner  than  he 
can  be  spared.  Now  come  and  hear  the  letter.” 

They  all  drew  to  the  fire,  mother  in  the  big  chair  with 
Beth  at  her  feet,  Meg  and  Amy  perched  on  either  arm 
of  the  chair,  and  Jo  leaning  on  the  back,  where  no  one 
would  see  any  sign  of  emotion  if  the  letter  should  happen 
to  be  touching.  Very  few  letters  were  written  in  those 
hard  times  that  were  not  touching,  especially  those  which 
fathers  sent  home.  In  this  one  little  was  said  of  the 
hardships  endured,  the  dangers  faced,  or  the  homesick¬ 
ness  conquered ;  it  was  a  cheerful,  hopeful  letter,  full  of 
lively  descriptions  of  camp  life,  marches,  and  military 
news ;  and  only  at  the  end  did  the  writer’s  heart  over¬ 
flow  with  fatherly  love  and  longing  for  the  little  girls 
at  home. 

“  Give  them  all  my  dear  love  and  a  kiss.  Tell  them  I 
think  of  them  by  day,  pray  for  them  by  night,  and  find 
my  best  comfort  in  their  affection  at  all  times.  A  year 
seems  very  long  to  wait  before  I  see  them,  but  remind 
them  that  while  we  wait  we  may  all  work,  so  that  these 
hard  days  need  not  be  wasted.  I  know  they  will  remem¬ 
ber  all  I  said  to  them,  that  they  will  be  loving  children 
to  you,  will  do  their  duty  faithfully,  fight  their  bosom 
enemies  bravely,  and  conquer  themselves  so  beautifully, 
that  when  I  come  back  to  them  I  may  be  fonder  and 
prouder  than  ever  of  my  little  women.” 

Everybody  sniffed  when  they  came  to  that  part;  Jo 
was  n’t  ashamed  of  the  great  tear  that  dropped  off  the 
end  of  her  nose,  and  Amy  never  minded  the  rumpling  of 
her  curls  as  she  hid  her  face  on  her  mother’s  shoulder  and 
sobbed  out,  “  I  am  a  selfish  girl !  but  I  ’ll  truly  try  to  be 
better,  so  he  may  n’t  be  disappointed  in  me  by  and  by.” 

“  We  all  will !  ”  cried  Meg.  “  I  think  too  much  of  my 


12  Little  Women 

looks,  and  hate  to  work,  but  won’t  any  more,  if  I  can 
help  it.” 

“  I  ’ll  try  and  be  what  he  loves  to  call  me,  ‘  a  little 
woman,’  and  not  be  rough  and  wild ;  but  do  my  duty 
here  instead  of  wanting  to  be  somewhere  else,”  said  Jo, 
thinking  that  keeping  her  temper  at  home  was  a  much 
harder  task  than  facing  a  rebel  or  two  down  South. 

Beth  said  nothing,  but  wiped  away  her  tears  with  the 
blue  army-sock,  and  began  to  knit  with  all  her  might, 
losing  no  time  in  doing  the  duty  that  lay  nearest  her, 
while  she  resolved  in  her  quiet  little  soul  to  be  all  that 
father  hoped  to  find  her  when  the  year  brought  round 
the  happy  coming  home. 

Mrs.  March  broke  the  silence  that  followed  Jo’s  words, 
by  saying  in  her  cheery  voice,  “  Do  you  remember  how 
you  used  to  play  Pilgrim’s  Progress  when  you  were  little 
things?  Nothing  delighted  you  more  than  to  have  me 
tie  my  piece-bags  on  your  backs  for  burdens,  give  you 
hats  and  sticks  and  rolls  of  paper,  and  let  you  travel 
through  the  house  from  the  cellar,  which  was  the  City 
of  Destruction,  up,  up,  to  the  house-top,  where  you  had 
all  the  lovely  things  you  could  collect  to  make  a  Celes¬ 
tial  City.” 

“  What  fun  it  was,  especially  going  by  the  lions,  fight¬ 
ing  Apollyon,  and  passing  through  the  Valley  where  the 
hobgoblins  were  !  ”  said  Jo. 

“  I  liked  the  place  where  the  bundles  fell  off  and 
tumbled  downstairs,”  said  Meg. 

“  My  favorite  part  was  when  we  came  out  on  the  flat 
roof  where  our  flowers  and  arbors  and  pretty  things  were, 
and  all  stood  and  sung  for  joy  up  there  in  the  sunshine,” 
said  Beth,  smiling,  as  if  that  pleasant  moment  had  come 
back  to  her. 

“  I  don’t  remember  much  about  it,  except  that  I  was 


Playing  Pilgrims  i  3 

afraid  of  the  cellar  and  the  dark  entry,  and  always  liked 
the  cake  and  milk  we  had  up  at  the  top.  If  I  wasn’t 
too  old  for  such  things,  I ’d  rather  like  to  play  it  over 
again,”  said  Amy,  who  began  to  talk  of  renouncing 
childish  things  at  the  mature  age  of  twelve. 

“We  never  are  too  old  for  this,  my  dear,  because  it  is 
a  play  we  are  playing  all  the  time  in  one  way  or  another. 
Our  burdens  are  here,  our  road  is  before  us,  and  the 
longing  for  goodness  and  happiness  is  the  guide  that 
leads  us  through  many  troubles  and  mistakes  to  the 
peace  which  is  a  true  Celestial  City.  Now,  my  little 
pilgrims,  suppose  you  begin  again,  not  in  play,  but  in 
earnest,  and  see  how  far  on  you  can  get  before  father 
comes  home.” 

“Really,  mother?  Where  are  our  bundles?”  asked 
Amy,  who  was  a  very  literal  young  lady. 

“  Each  of  you  told  what  your  burden  was  just  now, 
except  Beth;  I  rather  think  she  hasn’t  got  any,”  said 
her  mother. 

“Yes,  I  have;  mine  is  dishes  and  dusters,  and  envying 
girls  with  nice  pianos,  and  being  afraid  of  people.” 

Beth’s  bundle  was  such  a  funny  one  that  everybody 
wanted  to  laugh ;  but  nobody  did,  for  it  would  have 
hurt  her  feelings  very  much. 

“Let  us  do  it,”  said  Meg  thoughtfully.  “It  is  only 
another  name  for  trying  to  be  good,  and  the  story  may 
help  us ;  for  though  we  do  want  to  be  good,  it ’s  hard 
work,  and  we  forget,  and  don’t  do  our  best.” 

“  We  were  in  the  Slough  of  Despond  to-night,  and 
mother  came  and  pulled  us  out  as  Help  did  in  the  book. 
We  ought  to  have  our  roll  of  directions,  like  Christian. 
What  shall  we  do  about  that?  ”  asked  Jo,  delighted  with 
the  fancy  which  lent  a  little  romance  to  the  very  dull 
task  of  doing  her  duty. 


14 


Little  Women 


“  Look  under  your  pillows,  Christmas  morning,  and 
you  will  find  your  guide-book,”  replied  Mrs.  March. 

They  talked  over  the  new  plan  while  old  Hannah 
cleared  the  table ;  then  out  came  the  four  little  work- 
baskets,  and  the  needles  flew  as  the  girls  made  sheets 
for  Aunt  March.  It  was  uninteresting  sewing,  but  to¬ 
night  no  one  grumbled.  They  adopted  Jo’s  plan  of 
dividing  the  long  seams  into  four  parts,  and  calling  the 
quarters  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  and  America,  and  in  that 
way  got  on  capitally,  especially  when  they  talked  about 
the  different  countries  as  they  stitched  their  way  through 
them. 

At  nine  they  stopped  work,  and  sung,  as  usual,  before 
they  went  to  bed.  No  one  but  Beth  could  get  much 
music  out  of  the  old  piano ;  but  she  had  a  way  of  softly 
touching  the  yellow  keys,  and  making  a  pleasant  accom¬ 
paniment  to  the  simple  songs  they  sung.  Meg  had  a 
voice  like  a  flute,  and  she  and  her  mother  led  the  little 
choir.  Amy  chirped  like  a  cricket,  and  Jo  wandered 
through  the  airs  at  her  own  sweet  will,  always  coming 
out  at  the  wrong  place  with  a  croak  or  a  quaver  that 
spoilt  the  most  pensive  tune. .  They  had  always  done 
this  from  the  time  they  could  lisp 

“  Crinkle,  crinkle,  ’ittle  ’tar,” 

and  it  had  become  a  household  custom,  for  the  mother 
was  a  born  singer.  The  first  sound  in  the  morning  was 
her  voice,  as  she  went  about  the  house  singing  like  a 
lark ;  and  the  last  sound  at  night  was  the  same  cheery 
sound,  for  the  girls  never  grew  too  old  for  that  familiar 
lullaby 


A  Merry  Christmas 


15 


CHAPTER  II 

A  MERRY  CHRISTMAS 

JO  was  the  first  to  wake  in  the  gray  dawn  of  Christ¬ 
mas  morning.  No  stockings  hung  at  the  fireplace, 
and  for  a  moment  she  felt  as  much  disappointed  as 
she  did  long  ago,  when  her  little  sock  fell  down  because 
it  was  so  crammed  with  goodies.  Then  she  remembered 
her  mother’s  promise,  and,  slipping  her  hand  under  her 
pillow,  drew  out  a  little  crimson-covered  book.  She 
knew  it  very  well,  for  it  was  that  beautiful  old  story  of 
the  best  life  ever  lived,  and  Jo  felt  that  it  was  a  true 
guide-book  for  any  pilgrim  going  the  long  journey.  She 
woke  Meg  with  a  “  Merry  Christmas,”  and  bade  her  see 
what  was  under  her  pillow.  A  green-covered  book 
appeared,  with  the  same  picture  inside,  and  a  few  words 
written  by  their  mother,  which  made  their  one  present 
very  precious  in  their  eyes.  Presently  Beth  and  Amy 
woke,  to  rummage  and  find  their  little  books  also,  — • 
one  dove-colored,  the  other  blue ;  and  all  sat  looking  at 
and  talking  about  them,  while  the  east  grew  rosy  with 
the  coming  day. 

In  spite  of  her  small  vanities,  Margaret  had  a  sweet 
and  pious  nature,  which  unconsciously  influenced  her 
sisters,  especially  Jo,  who  loved  her  very  tenderly,  and 
obeyed  her  because  her  advice  was  so  gently  given. 

“  Girls,”  said  Meg  seriously,  looking  from  the  tum¬ 
bled  head  beside  her  to  the  two  little  night-capped  ones 
in  the  room  beyond,  “  mother  wants  us  to  read  and  love 
and  mind  these  books,  and  we  must  begin  at  once.  We 
used  to  be  faithful  about  it ;  but  since  father  went  away, 
and  all  this  war  trouble  unsettled  us,  we  have  neglected 


x  6 


Little  Women 


many  things.  You  can  do  as  you  please;  but  I  sh; 
keep  my  book  on  the  table  here,  and  read  a  little  eve 
morning  as  soon  as  I  wake,  for  I  know  it  will  do  n 
good,  and  help  me  through  the  day.” 

Then  she  opened  her  new  book  and  began  to  rea 
Jo  put  her  arm  round  her,  and,  leaning  cheek  to  chee 
read  also,  with  the  quiet  expression  so  seldom  seen  < 
her  restless  face. 

“  How  good  Meg  is  !  Come,  Amy,  let ’s  do  as  th( 
do.  I  ’ll  help  you  with  the  hard  words,  and  they  ’ll  e: 
plain  things  if  we  don’t  understand,”  whispered  Bet 
very  much  impressed  by  the  pretty  books  and  her  sistei 
example. 

“  I ’m  glad  mine  is  blue,”  said  Amy ;  and  then  tl 
rooms  were  very  still  while  the  pages  were  softly  turne 
and  the  winter  sunshine  crept  in  to  touch  the  brig' 
heads  and  serious  faces  with  a  Christmas  greeting. 

“Where  is  mother?”  asked  Meg,  as  she  and  Jo  n 
down  to  thank  her  for  their  gifts,  half  an  hour  later. 

“  Goodness  only  knows.  Some  poor  creeter  con 
a-beggin’,  and  your  ma  went  straight  off  to  see  what  w; 
needed.  There  never  was  such  a  woman  for  givi 
away  vittles  and  drink,  clothes  and  firin’,  ”  replie 
Hannah,  who  had  lived  with  the  family  since  Meg  w; 
born,  and  was  considered  by  them  all  more  as  a  frier 
than  a  servant. 

“  She  will  be  back  soon,  I  think ;  so  fry  your  cake 
and  have  everything  ready,”  said  Meg,  looking  over  tf 
presents  which  were  collected  in  a  basket  and  kept  und( 
the  sofa,  ready  to  be  produced  at  the  proper  timi 
“  Why,  where  is  Amy’s  bottle  of  cologne?”  she  adde< 
as  the  little  flask  did  not  appear. 

“  She  took  it  out  a  minute  ago,  and  went  off  with  it  t 
put  a  ribbon  on  it,  or  some  such  notion,”  replied  J< 


A  Merry  Christmas  17 

dancing  about  the  room  to  take  the  first  stiffness  off  the 
new  army-slippers. 

“  How  nice  my  handkerchiefs  look,  don’t  they?  Han¬ 
nah  washed  and  ironed  them  for  me,  and  I  marked  them 
all  myself,  said  Beth,  looking  proudly  at  the  somewhat 
uneven  letters  which  had  cost  her  such  labor. 

“Bless  the  child!  she’s  gone  and  put  ‘Mother’  on 
them  instead  of  ‘  M.  March.’  How  funny !  ’’  cried  Jo, 
taking  up  one. 

“Isn’t  it  right?  I  thought  it  was  better  to  do  it  so, 
because  Meg’s  initials  are  ‘  M.  M.,’  and  I  don’t  want 
any  one  to  use  these  but  Marmee,”  said  Beth,  looking 
troubled. 

“  It ’s  all  right,  dear,  and  a  very  pretty  idea,  —  quite 
sensible,  too,  for  no  one  can  ever  mistake  now.  It  will 
please  her  very  much,  I  know,”  said  Meg,  with  a  frown 
for  Jo  and  a  smile  for  Beth. 

“  There ’s  mother.  Hide  the  basket,  quick  !  ”  cried  Jo, 
as  a  door  slammed,  and  steps  sounded  in  the  hall. 

Amy  came  in  hastily,  and  looked  rather  abashed  when 
she  saw  her  sisters  all  waiting  for  her. 

“  Where  have  you  been,  and  what  are  you  hiding 
behind  you?”  asked  Meg,  surprised  to  see,  by  her  hood 
and  cloak,  that  lazy  Amy  had  been  out  so  early. 

“  Don’t  laugh  at  me,  Jo  !  I  did  n’t  mean  any  one  should 
know  till  the  time  came.  I  only  meant  to  change  the 
little  bottle  for  a  big  one,  and  I  gave  all  my  money  to 
get  it,  and  I ’m  truly  trying  not  to  be  selfish  any  more.” 

As  she  spoke,  Amy  showed  the  handsome  flask  which 
replaced  the  cheap  one  ;  and  looked  so  earnest  and  hum¬ 
ble  in  her  little  effort  to  forget  herself  that  Meg  hugged 
her  on  the  spot,  and  Jo  pronounced  her  “  a  trump,” 
while  Beth  ran  to  the  window,  and  picked  her  finest  rose 

to  ornament  the  stately  bottle. 

2 


1 8 


Little  Women 


“  You  see  I  felt  ashamed  of  my  present,  after  reading 
and  talking  about  being  good  this  morning,  so  I  ran 
round  the  corner  and  changed  it  the  minute  I  was  up : 
and  I  ’m  so  glad,  for  mine  is  the  handsomest  now.” 

Another  bang  of  the  street-door  sent  the  basket  under 
the  sofa,  and  the  girls  to  the  table,  eager  for  breakfast. 

“  Merry  Christmas,  Marmee  !  Many  of  them  !  Thank 
you  for  our  books ;  we  read  some,  and  mean  to  every 
day,”  they  cried,  in  chorus. 

“  Merry  Christmas,  little  daughters  !  I  ’m  glad  you 
began  at  once,  and  hope  you  will  keep  on.  But  I  want 
to  say  one  word  before  we  sit  down.  Not  far  away  from 
here  lies  a  poor  woman  with  a  little  new-born  baby.  Six 
children  are  huddled  into  one  bed  to  keep  from  freezing, 
for  they  have  no  fire.  There  is  nothing  to  eat  over  there  ; 
and  the  oldest  boy  came  to  tell  me  they  were  suffering 
hunger  and  cold.  My  girls,  will  you  give  them  your 
breakfast  as  a  Christmas  present?  ” 

They  were  all  unusually  hungry,  having  waited  nearly 
an  hour,  and  for  a  minute  no  one  spoke ;  only  a  minute, 
for  Jo  exclaimed  impetuously,  — 

“  I  ’m  so  glad  you  came  before  we  began !  ” 

“  May  I  go  and  help  carry  the  things  to  the  poor  little 
children  ?  ”  asked  Beth  eagerly. 

“/  shall  take  the  cream  and  the  muffins,”  added  Amy 
heroically  giving  up  the  articles  she  most  liked. 

Meg  was  already  covering  the  buckwheats,  and  piling 
the  bread  into  one  big  plate. 

“  I  thought  you  ’d  do  it,”  said  Mrs.  March,  smiling  as 
if  satisfied.  “  You  shall  all  go  and  help  me,  and  when 
we  come  back  we  will  have  bread  and  milk  for  breakfast, 
and  make  it  up  at  dinner-time.” 

They  were  soon  ready,  and  the  procession  set  out. 
Fortunately  it  was  early,  and  they  went  through  back 


A  Merry  Christmas  ig 

streets,  so  few  people  saw  them,  and  no  one  laughed  at 
the  queer  party. 

A  poor,  bare,  miserable  room  it  was,  with  broken  win¬ 
dows,  no  fire,  ragged  bed-clothes,  a  sick  mother,  wailing 
baby,  and  a  group  of  pale,  hungry  children  cuddled 
under  one  old  quilt,  trying  to  keep  warm. 

How  the  big  eyes  stared  and  the  blue  lips  smiled  as 
the  girls  went  in  ! 

“  Ach,  mein  Gott !  it  is  good  angels  come  to  us  !  ”  said 
the  poor  woman,  crying  for  joy. 

“  Funny  angels  in  hoods  and  mittens,”  said  Jo,  and  set 
them  laughing. 

In  a  few  minutes  it  really  did  seem  as  if  kind  spirits 
had  been  at  work  there.  Hannah,  who  had  carried 
wood,  made  a  fire,  and  stopped  up  the  broken  panes 
with  old  hats  and  her  own  cloak.  Mrs.  March  gave  the 
mother  tea  and  gruel,  and  comforted  her  with  promises 
of  help,  while  she  dressed  the  little  baby  as  tenderly  as  if 
it  had  been  her  own.  The  girls,  meantime,  spread  the 
table,  set  the  children  round  the  fire,  and  fed  them  like 
so  many  hungry  birds,  —  laughing,  talking,  and  trying 
to  understand  the  funny  broken  English. 

“  Das  ist  gut !  ”  “  Die  Engel-kinder  !  ”  cried  the  poor 
things,  as  they  ate,  and  warmed  their  purple  hands  at 
the  comfortable  blaze. 

The  girls  had  never  been  called  angel  children  before, 
and  thought  it  very  agreeable,  especially  Jo,  who  had 
been  considered  a  “  Sancho  ”  ever  since  she  was  born. 
That  was  a  very  happy  breakfast,  though  they  did  n’t 
get  any  of  it ;  and  when  they  went  away,  leaving  com¬ 
fort  behind,  I  think  there  were  not  in  all  the  city  four 
merrier  people  than  the  hungry  little  girls  who  gave 
away  their  breakfasts  and  contented  themselves  with 
bread  and  milk  on  Christmas  morning. 


20 


Little  Worn  en 


“  That ’s  loving  our  neighbor  better  than  ourselves, 
and  I  like  it,”  said  Meg,  as  they  set  out  their  presents, 
while  their  mother  was  upstairs  collecting  clothes  for 
the  poor  Hummels. 

Not  a  very  splendid  show,  but  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  love  done  up  in  the  few  little  bundles ;  and  the  tall 
vase  of  red  roses,  white  chrysanthemums,  and  trailing 
vines,  which  stood  in  the  middle,  gave  quite  an  elegant 
air  to  the  table. 

“  She  ’s  coming  !  Strike  up,  Beth  !  Open  the  door, 
Amy!  Three  cheers  for  Marmee  !  ”  cried  Jo,  prancing 
about,  while  Meg  went  to  conduct  mother  to  the  seat  of 
honor. 

Beth  played  her  gayest  march,  Amy  threw  open  the 
door,  and  Meg  enacted  escort  with  great  dignity.  Mrs. 
March  was  both  surprised  and  touched ;  and  smiled 
with  her  eyes  full  as  she  examined  her  presents,  and  read 
the  little  notes  which  accompanied  them.  The  slippers 
went  on  at  once,  a  new  handkerchief  was  slipped  into 
her  pocket,  well  scented  with  Amy’s  cologne,  the  rose 
was  fastened  in  her  bosom,  and  the  nice  gloves  were 
pronounced  a  “  perfect  fit.” 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  laughing  and  kissing  and 
explaining,  in  the  simple,  loving  fashion  which  makes 
these  home-festivals  so  pleasant  at  the  time,  so  sweet 
to  remember  long  afterward,  and  then  all  fell  to 
work. 

The  morning  charities  and  ceremonies  took  so  much 
time  that  the  rest  of  the  day  was  devoted  to  prepara¬ 
tions  for  the  evening  festivities.  Being  still  too  young  to 
go  often  to  the  theatre,  and  not  rich  enough  to  afford 
any  great  outlay  for  private  performances,  the  girls  put 
their  wits  to  work,  and  —  necessity  being  the  mother  of 
invention  —  made  whatever  they  needed.  Very  clever 


A  Merry  Christmas  2  1 

were  some  of  their  productions,  —  pasteboard  guitars, 
antique  lamps  made  of  old-fashioned  butter-boats 
covered  with  silver  paper,  gorgeous  robes  of  old  cot¬ 
ton,  glittering  with  tin  spangles  from  a  pickle  factory, 
and  armor  covered  with  the  same  useful  diamond-shaped 
bits,  left  in  sheets  when  the  lids  of  tin  preserve-pots 
were  cut  out.  The  furniture  was  used  to  being  turned 
topsy-turvy,  and  the  big  chamber  was  the  scene  of  many 
innocent  revels. 

No  gentlemen  were  admitted  ;  so  Jo  played  male  parts 
to  her  heart’s  content,  and  took  immense  satisfaction  in 
a  pair  of  russet-leather  boots  given  her  by  a  friend, 
who  knew  a  lady  who  knew  an  actor.  These  boots, 
an  old  foil,  and  a  slashed  doublet  once  used  by  an 
artist  for  some  picture,  were  Jo’s  chief  treasures,  and 
appeared  on  all  occasions.  The  smallness  of  the  com¬ 
pany  made  it  necessary  for  the  two  principal  actors 
to  take  several  parts  apiece ;  and  they  certainly  de¬ 
served  some  credit  for  the  hard  work  they  did  in 
learning  three  or  four  different  parts,  whisking  in  and 
out  of  various  costumes,  and  managing  the  stage  be¬ 
sides.  It  was  excellent  drill  for  their  memories,  a 
harmless  amusement,  and  employed  many  hours  which 
otherwise  would  have  been  idle,  lonely,  or  spent  in  less 
profitable  society. 

On  Christmas  night,  a  dozen  girls  piled  on  to  the  bed 
which  was  the  dress-circle,  and  sat  before  the  blue  and 
yellow  chintz  curtains  in  a  most  flattering  state  of 
expectancy.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  rustling  and 
whispering  behind  the  curtain,  a  trifle  of  lamp-smoke, 
and  an  occasional  giggle  from  Amy,  who  was  apt  to  get 
hysterical  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment.  Presently 
a  bell  sounded,  the  curtains  flew  apart,  and  the  Operatic 
Tragedy  began. 


Little  Women 


2  2 


“  A  gloomy  wood,”  according  to  the  one  play-bill, 
was  represented  by  a  few  shrubs  in  pots,  green  baize 
on  the  floor,  and  a  cave  in  the  distance.  This  cave 
was  made  with  a  clothes-horse  for  a  roof,  bureaus  for 
walls ;  and  in  it  was  a  small  furnace  in  full  blast,  with  a 
black  pot  on  it,  and  an  old  witch  bending  over  it.  The 
stage  was  dark,  and  the  glow  of  the  furnace  had  a  fine 
effect,  especially  as  real  steam  issued  from  the  kettle 
when  the  witch  took  off  the  cover.  A  moment  was 
allowed  for  the  first  thrill  to  subside;  then  Hugo,  the 
villain,  stalked  in  with  a  clanking  sword  at  his  side,  a 
slouched  hat,  black  beard,  mysterious  cloak,  and  the 
boots.  After  pacing  to  and  fro  in  much  agitation,  he 
struck  his  forehead,  and  burst  out  in  a  wild  strain,  sing¬ 
ing  of  his  hatred  to  Roderigo,  his  love  for  Zara,  and  his 
pleasing  resolution  to  kill  the  one  and  win  the  other. 
The  gruff  tones  of  Hugo’s  voice,  with  an  occasional 
shout  when  his  feelings  overcame  him,  were  very  impres¬ 
sive,  and  the  audience  applauded  the  moment  he  paused 
for  breath.  Bowing  with  the  air  of  one  accustomed  to 
public  praise,  he  stole  to  the  cavern,  and  ordered  Hagar 
to  come  forth  with  a  commanding  “  What  ho,  minion  ! 
I  need  thee  !  ” 

Out  came  Meg,  with  gray  horse-hair  hanging  about 
her  face,  a  red  and  black  robe,  a  staff,  and  cabalistic 
signs  upon  her  cloak.  Hugo  demanded  a  potion  to 
make  Zara  adore  him,  and  one  to  destroy  Roderigo. 
Hagar,  in  a  fine  dramatic  melody,  promised  both,  and 
proceeded  to  call  up  the  spirit  who  would  bring  the  love 
philter :  — 

“  Hither,  hither,  from  thy  home, 

Airy  sprite,  I  bid  thee  come  ! 

Born  of  roses,  fed  on  dew, 

Charms  and  potions  canst  thou  brew  ? 


2  3 


A  Merry  Christmas 

Bring  me  here,  with  elfin  speed, 

The  fragrant  philter  which  I  need; 

Make  it  sweet  and  swift  and  strong, 

Spirit,  answer  now  my  song  !  ” 

A  soft  strain  of  music  sounded,  and  then  at  the  back 
of  the  cave  appeared  a  little  figure  in  cloudy  white,  with 
glittering  wings,  golden  hair,  and  a  garland  of  roses  on 
its  head.  Waving  a  wand,  it  sang, — 

“  Hither  I  come, 

From  my  airy  home, 

Afar  in  the  silver  moon. 

Take  the  magic  spell, 

And  use  it  well, 

Or  its  power  will  vanish  soon  !  ” 

And,  dropping  a  small,  gilded  bottle  at  the  witch’s  feet, 
the  spirit  vanished.  Another  chant  from  Hagar  pro¬ 
duced  another  apparition,  —  not  a  lovely  one  ;  for,  with 
a  bang,  an  ugly  black  imp  appeared,  and,  having  croaked 
a  reply,  tossed  a  dark  bottle  at  Hugo,  and  disappeared 
with  a  mocking  laugh.  Having  warbled  his  thanks  and 
put  the  potions  in  his  boots,-  Hugo  departed ;  and 
Hagar  informed  the  audience  that,  as  he  had  killed 
a  few  of  her  friends  in  times  past,  she  has  cursed  him, 
and  intends  to  thwart  his  plans,  and  be  revenged  on 
him.  Then  the  curtain  fell,  and  the  audience  reposed 
and  ate  candy  while  discussing  the  merits  of  the  play. 

A  good  deal  of  hammering  went  on  before  the  cur¬ 
tain  rose  again ;  but  when  it  became  evident  what  a 
masterpiece  of  stage-carpentering  had  been  got  up, 
no  one  murmured  at  the  delay.  It  was  truly  superb  ! 
A  tower  rose  to  the  ceiling;  half-way  up  appeared  a 
window,  with  a  lamp  burning  at  it,  and  behind  the 
white  curtain  appeared  Zara  in  a  lovely  blue  and  silver 
dress,  waiting  for  Roderigo.  He  came  in  gorgeous 


Little  Women 


24 

array,  with  plumed  cap,  red  cloak,  chestnut  love-locks, 
a  guitar,  and  the  boots,  of  course.  Kneeling  at  the  foot 
of  the  tower,  he  sang  a  serenade  in  melting  tones. 
Zara  replied,  and,  after  a  musical  dialogue,  consented  to 
fly.  Then  came  the  grand  effect  of  the  play.  Roderigo 
produced  a  rope-ladder,  with  five  steps  to  it,  threw  up 
one  end,  and  invited  Zara  to  descend.  Timidly  she 
crept  from  her  lattice,  put  her  hand  on  Roderigo’s  shoul¬ 
der,  and  was  about  to  leap  gracefully  down,  when, 
“Alas!  alas  for  Zara!”  she  forgot  her  train,  —  it 
caught  in  the  window;  the  tower  tottered,  leaned 
forward,  fell  with  a  crash,  and  buried  the  unhappy 
lovers  in  the  ruins ! 

A  universal  shriek  arose  as  the  russet  boots  waved 
wildly  from  the  wreck,  and  a  golden  head  emerged, 
exclaiming,  “  I  told  you  so  !  I  told  you  so  !  ”  With 
wonderful  presence  of  mind,  Don  Pedro,  the  cruel 
sire,  rushed  in,  dragged  out  his  daughter,  with  a  hasty 
aside,  — 

“Don’t  laugh!-  Act  as  if  it  was  all  right!” — and, 
ordering  Roderigo  up,  banished  him  from  the  kingdom 
with  wrath  and  scorn.  Though  decidedly  shaken  by 
the  fall  of  the  tower  upon  him,  Roderigo  defied  the  old 
gentleman,  and  refused  to  stir.  This  dauntless  example 
fired  Zara :  she  also  defied  her  sire,  and  he  ordered  them 
both  to  the  deepest  dungeons  of  the  castle.  A  stout 
little  retainer  came  in  with  chains,  and  led  them  away, 
looking  very  much  frightened,  and  evidently  forgetting 
the  speech  he  ought  to  have  made. 

Act  third  was  the  castle  hall;  and  here  H agar  ap¬ 
peared,  having  come  to  free  the  lovers  and  finish  Hugo. 
She  hears  him  coming,  and  hides;  sees  him  put  the 
potions  into  two  cups  of  wine,  and  bid  the  timid  little 
servant  “  Bear  them  to  the  captives  in  their  cells,  and 


A  Merry  Christmas  25 

tell  them  I  shall  come  anon.”  The  servant  takes  Hugo 
aside  to  tell  him  something,  and  Hagar  changes  the 
cups  for  two  others  which  are  harmless.  Ferdinando, 
the  “  minion,”  carries  them  away,  and  Hagar  puts  back 
the  cup  which  holds  the  poison  meant  for  Roderigo. 
Hugo,  getting  thirsty  after  a  long  warble,  drinks  it,  loses 
his  wits,  and,  after  a  good  deal  of  clutching  and  stamp- 
ing,  falls  flat  and  dies;  while  Hagar  informs  him  what 
she  has  done  in  a  song  of  exquisite  power  and  melody. 

This  was  a  truly  thrilling  scene,  though  some  persons 
might  have  thought  that  the  sudden  tumbling  down  of 
a  quantity  of  long  hair  rather  marred  the  effect  of  the 
villain’s  death.  He  was  called  before  the  curtain,  and 
with  great  propriety  appeared,  leading  Hagar,  whose 
singing  was  considered  more  wonderful  than  all  the  rest 
of  the  performance  put  together. 

Act  fourth  displayed  the  despairing  Roderigo  on  the 
point  of  stabbing  himself,  because  he  has  been  told  that 
Zara  has  deserted  him.  Just  as  the  dagger  is  at  his 
heart,  a  lovely  song  is  sung  under  his  window,  informing 
him  that  Zara  is  true,  but  in  danger,  and  he  can  save 
her,  if  he  will.  A  key  is  thrown  in,  which  unlocks  the 
door,  and  in  a  spasm  of  rapture  he  tears  off  his  chains, 
and  rushes  away  to  find  and  rescue  his  lady-love. 

Act  fifth  opened  with  a  stormy  scene  between  Zara 
and  Don  Pedro.  He  wishes  her  to  go  into  a  convent, 
but  she  won’t  hear  of  it;  and,  after  a  touching  appeal, 
is  about  to  faint,  when  Roderigo  dashes  in  and  demands 
her  hand.  Don  Pedro  refuses,  because  he  is  not  rich. 
They  shout  and  gesticulate  tremendously,  but  cannot 
agree,  and  Roderigo  is  about  to  bear  away  the  ex¬ 
hausted  Zara,  when  the  timid  servant  enters  with  a 
letter  and  a  bag  from  Hagar,  who  has  mysteriously 
disappeared.  The  latter  informs  the  party  that  she 


2  6 


Little  Women 


bequeaths  untold  wealth  to  the  young  pair,  and  an  awful 
doom  to  Don  Pedro,  if  he  does  n’t  make  them  happy. 
The  bag  is  opened,  and  several  quarts  of  tin  money 
shower  down  upon  the  stage,  till  it  is  quite  glorified  with 
the  glitter.  This  entirely  softens  the  “  stern  sire  ”  :  he 
consents  without  a  murmur,  all  join  in  a  joyful  chorus, 
and  the  curtain  falls  upon  the  lovers  kneeling  to 
receive  Don  Pedro’s  blessing  in  attitudes  of  the  most 
romantic  grace. 

Tumultuous  applause  followed,  but  received  an  un¬ 
expected  check ;  for  the  cot-bed,  on  which  the  “  dress- 
circle  ”  was  built,  suddenly  shut  up,  and  extinguished 
the  enthusiastic  audience.  Roderigo  and  Don  Pedro 
flew  to  the  rescue,  and  all  were  taken  out  unhurt,  though 
many  were  speechless  with  laughter.  The  excitement 
had  hardly  subsided,  when  Hannah  appeared,  with 
“  Mrs.  March’s  compliments,  and  would  the  ladies  walk 
down  to  supper.” 

This  was  a  surprise,  even  to  the  actors ;  and,  when 
they  saw  the  table,  they  looked  at  one  another  in  raptur¬ 
ous  amazement.  It  was  like  Marmee  to  get  up  a  little 
treat  for  them ;  but  anything  so  fine  as  this  was  unheard- 
of  since  the  departed  days  of  plenty.  There  was  ice¬ 
cream,  —  actually  two  dishes  of  it,  pink  and  white,  — • 
and  cake  and  fruit  and  distracting  French  bonbons,  and, 
in  the  middle  of  the  table,  four  great  bouquets  of  hot¬ 
house  flowers  ! 

It  quite  took  their  breath  away ;  and  they  stared  first 
at  the  table  and  then  at  their  mother,  who  looked  as  if 
she  enjoyed  it  immensely. 

“  Is  it  fairies?  ”  asked  Amy. 

“It’s  Santa  Claus,”  said  Beth. 

“Mother  did  it;  ”  and  Meg  smiled  her  sweetest,  in 
spite  of  her  gray  beard  and  white  eyebrows. 


A  Merry  Christmas  27 

Aunt  March  had  a  good  fit,  and  sent  the  supper,” 
cried  Jo,  with  a  sudden  inspiration. 

“  All  wrong.  Old  Mr.  Laurence  sent  it,”  replied 
Mrs.  March. 

“  The  Laurence  boy’s  grandfather !  What  in  the 
world  put  such  a  thing  into  his  head?  We  don’t  know 
him  !  ”  exclaimed  Meg. 

“  Hannah  told  one  of  his  servants  about  your  break¬ 
fast  party.  He  is  an  odd  old  gentleman,  but  that 
pleased  him.  He  knew  my  father,  years  ago ;  and  he 
sent  me  a  polite  note  this  afternoon,  saying  he  hoped  I 
would  allow'  him  to  express  his  friendly  feeling  toward 
my  children  by  sending  them  a  few  trifles  in  honor  of 
the  day.  I  could  not  refuse ;  and  so  you  have  a  little 
feast  at  night  to  make  up  for  the  bread-and-milk 
breakfast.” 

“  That  boy  put  it  into  his  head,  I  know  he  did  !  He ’s 
a  capital  fellow,  and  I  wish  we  could  get  acquainted. 
He  looks  as  if  he ’d  like  to  know  us ;  but  he ’s  bashful, 
and  Meg  is  so  prim  she  won’t  let  me  speak  to  him  when 
we  pass,”  said  Jo,  as  the  plates  went  round,  and  the  ice 
began  to  melt  out  of  sight,  with  “  Ohs  !  ”  and  “  Alls !  ” 
of  satisfaction. 

“  You  mean  the  people  who  live  in  the  big  house 
next  door,  don’t  you?”  asked  one  of  the  girls.  “My 
mother  knows  old  Mr.  Laurence ;  but  says  he ’s  very 
proud,  and  does  n’t  like  to  mix  with  his  neighbors.  He 
keeps  his  grandson  shut  up,  when  he  is  n’t  riding  or 
walking  with  his  tutor,  and  makes  him  study  very  hard. 
We  invited  him  to  our  party,  but  he  did  n’t  come. 
Mother  says  he ’s  very  nice,  though  he  never  speaks  to 
us  girls.” 

“  Our  cat  ran  away  once,  and  he  brought  her  back, 
and  we  talked  over  the  fence,  and  were  getting  on 


28 


Little  Women 


capitally,  —  all  about  cricket,  and  so  on,  —  when  he 
saw  Meg  coming,  and  walked  off.  I  mean  to  know  him 
some  day;  for  he  needs  fun,  I’m  sure  he  does,”  said 
Jo  decidedly. 

“  I  like  his  manners,  and  he  looks  like  a  little  gentle¬ 
man  ;  so  I ’ve  no  objection  to  your  knowing  him,  if  a 
proper  opportunity  comes.  He  brought  the  flowers 
himself ;  and  I  should  have  asked  him  in,  if  I  had  been 
sure  what  was  going  on  upstairs.  He  looked  so  wistful 
as  he  went  away,  hearing  the  frolic,  and  evidently  having 
none  of  his  own.” 

“  It ’s  a  mercy  you  did  n’t,  mother  !  ”  laughed  Jo,  look¬ 
ing  at  her  boots.  “  But  we  ’ll  have  another  play,  some¬ 
time,  that  he  can  see.  Perhaps  he  ’ll  help  act;  would  n’t 
that  be  jolly?  ” 

“  I  never  had  such  a  fine  bouquet  before !  How 
pretty  it  is !  ”  And  Meg  examined  her  flowers  with 
great  interest. 

“  They  are  lovely  !  But  Beth’s  roses  are  sweeter  to 
me,”  said  Mrs.  March,  smelling  the  half-dead  posy  in 
her  belt. 

Beth  nestled  up  to  her,  and  whispered  softly,  “  I  wish 
I  could  send  my  bunch  to  father.  I ’m  afraid  he  is  n’t 
having  such  a  merry  Christmas  as  we  are.” 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  LAURENCE  BOY 


O  !  Jo  !  where  are  you  ?  ”  cried  Meg,  at  the  foot  of 
the  garret  stairs. 

“  Here !  ”  answered  a  husky  voice  from  above; 
and,  running  up,  Meg  found  her  sister  eating  apples  and 


X 


■■  • 


The  Laurence  Boy  29 

crying  over  the  “  Heir  of  Redclyffe,”  wrapped  up  in  a 
comforter  on  an  old  three-legged  sofa  by  the  sunny  win¬ 
dow.  This  was  Jo’s  favorite  refuge  ;  and  here  she  loved 
to  retire  with  half  a  dozen  russets  and  a  nice  book,  to 
enjoy  the  quiet  and  the  society  of  a  pet  rat  who  lived 
near  by,  and  did  n’t  mind  her  a  particle.  As  Meg  ap¬ 
peared,  Scrabble  whisked  into  his  hole.  Jo  shook  the 
tears  off  her  cheeks,  and  waited  to  hear  the  news. 

“  Such  fun !  only  see !  a  regular  note  of  invitation 
from  Mrs.  Gardiner  for  to-morrow  night !  ”  cried  Meg, 
waving  the  precious  paper,  and  then  proceeding  to  read 
it,  with  girlish  delight. 

“  ‘  Mrs.  Gardiner  would  be  happy  to  see  Miss  March 
and  Miss  Josephine  at  a  little  dance  on  New-Year’s  Eve.’ 
Marmee  is  willing  we  should  go ;  now  what  shall  we 
wear?  ” 

“  What ’s  the  use  of  asking  that,  when  you  know  we 
shall  wear  our  poplins,  because  we  have  n’t  got  anything 
else?”  answered  Jo,  with  her  mouth  full. 

“  If  I  only  had  a  silk  !  ”  sighed  Meg.  “  Mother  says 
I  may  when  I  ’m  eighteen,  perhaps ;  but  two  years  is  an 
everlasting  time  to  wait.” 

“  I  ’m  sure  our  pops  look  like  silk,  and  they  are  nice 
enough  for  us.  Yours  is  as  good  as  new,  but  I  forgot 
the  burn  and  the  tear  in  mine.  Whatever  shall  I  do? 
the  burn  shows  badly,  and  I  can’t  take  any  out.” 

“  You  must  sit  still  all  you  can,  and  keep  your  back 
out  of  sight ;  the  front  is  all  right.  I  shall  have  a  new 
ribbon  for  my  hair,  and  Marmee  will  lend  me  her  little 
pearl  pin,  and  my  new  slippers  are  lovely,  and  my  gloves 
will  do,  though  they  are  n’t  as  nice  as  I’d  like.” 

“  Mine  are  spoilt  with  lemonade,  and  I  can’t  get  any 
new  ones,  so  I  shall  have  to  go  without,”  said  Jo,  who 
never  troubled  herself  much  about  dress. 


Little  Women 


30 

“  You  must  have  gloves,  or  I  won’t  go,”  cried  Meg 
decidedly.  “  Gloves  are  more  important  than  anything 
else ;  you  can’t  dance  without  them,  and  if  you  don’t  I 
should  be  so  mortified.” 

“  Then  I  ’ll  stay  still.  I  don’t  care  much  for  com¬ 
pany  dancing;  it’s  no  fun  to  go  sailing  round;  I 
like  to  fly  about  and  cut  capers.” 

“You  can’t  ask  mother  for  new  ones,  they  are  so  ex¬ 
pensive,  and  you  are  so  careless.  She  said,  when  you 
spoilt  the  others,  that  she  should  n’t  get  you  any  more 
this  winter.  Can’t  you  make  them  do?”  asked  Meg 
anxiously. 

“  I  can  hold  them  crumpled  up  in  my  hand,  so  no  one 
will  know  how  stained  they  are ;  that ’s  all  I  can  do.  No  ! 
I  ’ll  tell  you  how  we  can  manage  — each  wear  one  good 
one  and  carry  a  bad  one ;  don’t  you  see?  ” 

“Your  hands  are  bigger  than  mine,  and  you  will 
stretch  my  glove  dreadfully,”  began  Meg,  whose  gloves 
were  a  tender  point  with  her. 

“Then  I’ll  go  without.  I  don’t  care  what  people 
say  !  ”  cried  Jo,  taking  up  her  book. 

“You  may  have  it,  you  may!  only  don’t  stain  it,  and 
do  behave  nicely.  Don’t  put  your  hands  behind  you,  or 
stare,  or  say  ‘  Christopher  Columbus  !  ’  will  you?  ” 

“  Don’t  worry  about  me  ;  I  ’ll  be  as  prim  as  I  can,  and 
not  get  into  any  scrapes,  if  I  can  help  it.  Now  go  and 
answer  your  note,  and  let  me  finish  this  splendid  story.” 

So  Meg  went  away  to  “  accept  with  thanks,”  look  over 
her  dress,  and  sing  blithely  as  she  did  up  her  one  real 
lace  frill;  while  Jo  finished  her  story,  her  four  apples, 
and  had  a  game  of  romps  with  Scrabble. 

On  New-Year’s  Eve  the  parlor  was  deserted,  for  the 
two  younger  girls  played  dressing-maids,  and  the  two 
elder  were  absorbed  in  the  all-important  business  of 


The  Laurence  Boy  3  1 

“getting  ready  for  the  party.”  Simple  as  the  toilets 
were,  there  was  a  great  deal  of  running  up  and  down, 
laughing  and  talking,  and  at  one  time  a  strong  smell  of 
burnt  hair  pervaded  the  house.  Meg  wanted  a  few 
curls  about  her  face,  and  Jo  undertook  to  pinch  the 
papered  locks  with  a  pair  of  hot  tongs. 

“Ought  they  to  smoke  like  that?”  asked  Beth,  from 
her  perch  on  the  bed. 

“  It’s  the  dampness  drying,”  replied  Jo. 

“  What  a  queer  smell !  it ’s  like  burnt  feathers,”  ob¬ 
served  Amy,  smoothing  her  own  pretty  curls  with  a 
superior  air. 

“There,  now  I  ’ll  take  off  the  papers  and  you  ’ll  see  a 
cloud  of  little  ringlets,”  said  Jo,  putting  down  the  tongs. 

She  did  take  off  the  papers,  but  no  cloud  of  ringlets 
appeared,  for  the  hair  came  with  the  papers,  and  the 
horrified  hair-dresser  laid  a  row  of  little  scorched 
bundles  on  the  bureau  before  her  victim. 

“Oh,  oh,  oh !  what  have  you  done?  I’m  spoilt!  I 
can’t  go  !  My  hair,  oh,  my  hair  !  ”  wailed  Meg,  looking 
with  despair  at  the  uneven  frizzle  on  her  forehead. 

“Just  my  luck!  you  shouldn’t  have  asked  me  to  do 
it ;  I  always  spoil  everything.  I ’m  so  sorry,  but  the  tongs 
were  too  hot,  and  so  I ’ve  made  a  mess,”  groaned  poor 
Jo,  regarding  the  black  pancakes  with  tears  of  regret. 

“It  isn’t  spoilt;  just  frizzle  it,  and  tie  your  ribbon  so 
the  ends  come  on  your  forehead  a  bit,  and  it  will  look 
like  the  last  fashion.  I ’ve  seen  many  girls  do  it  so,” 
said  Amy  consolingly. 

“  Serves  me  right  for  trying  to  be  fine.  I  wish  I ’d 
let  my  hair  alone,”  cried  Meg  petulantly. 

“  So  do  I,  it  was  so  smooth  and  pretty.  But  it  will 
soon  grow  out  again,”  said  Beth,  coming  to  kiss  and 
comfort  the  shorn  sheep. 


Little  Women 


32 

After  various  lesser  mishaps,  Meg  was  finished  at  last, 
and  by  the  united  exertions  of  the  family  Jo’s  hair  was 
got  up  and  her  dress  on.  They  looked  very  well  in  their 
simple  suits,  —  Meg  in  silvery  drab,  with  a  blue  velvet 
snood,  lace  frills,  and  a  pearl  pin;  Jo  in  maroon,  with 
a  stiff,  gentlemanly  linen  collar,  and  a  white  chrysan¬ 
themum  or  two  for  her  only  ornament.  Each  put  on 
one  nice  light  glove,  and  carried  one  soiled  one,  and  all 
pronounced  the  effect  u  quite  easy  and  fine.”  Meg’s 
high-heeled  slippers  were  very  tight,  and  hurt  her, 
though  she  would  not  own  it,  and  Jo’s  nineteen  hair¬ 
pins  all  seemed  stuck  straight  into  her  head,  which  was 
not  exactly  comfortable ;  but,  dear  me,  let  us  be  elegant 
or  die  ! 

“  Have  a  good  time,  dearies  !  ”  said  Mrs.  March,  as 
the  sisters  went  daintily  down  the  walk.  “  Don’t  eat 
much  supper,  and  come  away  at  eleven,  when  I  send 
Hannah  for  you.”  As  the  gate  clashed  behind  them,  a 
voice  cried  from  a  window,  — 

“  Girls,  girls  !  have  you  both  got  nice  pocket-handker¬ 
chiefs?” 

“  Yes,  yes,  spandy  nice,  and  Meg  has  cologne  on  hers,” 
cried  Jo,  adding,  with  a  laugh,  as  they  went  on,  “  I  do 
believe  Marmee  would  ask  that  if  we  were  all  running 
away  from  an  earthquake.” 

“  It  is  one  of  her  aristocratic  tastes,  and  quite  proper, 
for  a  real  lady  is  always  known  by  neat  boots,  gloves,  and 
handkerchief,”  replied  Meg,  who  had  a  good  many  little 
“  aristocratic  tastes  ”  of  her  own. 

“Now  don’t  forget  to  keep  the  bad  breadth  out  of 
sight,  Jo.  Is  my  sash  right?  and  does  my  hair  look 
very  bad?”  said  Meg,  as  she  turned  from  the  glass  in 
Mrs.  Gardiner’s  dressing-room,  after  a  prolonged  prink. 

“  I  know  I  shall  forget.  If  you  see  me  doing  anything 


The  Laurence  Boy  33 

wrong,  just  remind  me  by  a  wink,  will  you?”  returned 
Jo,  giving  her  collar  a  twitch  and  her  head  a  hasty  brush. 

“  No,  winking  is  n’t  lady-like  ;  I  ’ll  lift  my  eyebrows  if 
anything  is  wrong,  and  nod  if  you  are  all  right.  Now 
hold  your  shoulders  straight,  and  take  short  steps,  and 
don’t  shake  hands  if  you  are  introduced  to  any  one:  it 
is  n’t  the  thing.” 

“  How7 do  you  learn  all  the  proper  ways?  I  never  can. 
Is  n’t  that  music  gay?  ” 

Down  they  went,  feeling  a  trifle  timid,  for  they  seldom 
went  to  parties,  and,  informal  as  this  little  gathering  was, 
it  was  an  event  to  them.  Mrs.  Gardiner,  a  stately  old 
lady,  greeted  them  kindly,  and  handed  them  over  to  the 
eldest  of  her  six  daughters.  Meg  knew  Sallie,  and  was 
at  her  ease  very  soon ;  but  Jo,  who  did  n’t  care  much  for 
girls  or  girlish  gossip,  stood  about,  with  her  back  care¬ 
fully  against  the  wall,  and  felt  as  much  out  of  place  as  a 
colt  in  a  flower-garden.  Half  a  dozen  jovial  lads  were 
talking  about  skates  in  another  part  of  the  room,  and  she 
longed  to  go  and  join  them,  for  skating  was  one  of  the 
joys  of  her  life.  She  telegraphed  her  wish  to  Meg,  but 
the  eyebrows  went  up  so  alarmingly  that  she  dared  not 
Stir.  No  one  came  to  talk  to  her,  and  one  by  one  the 
group  near  her  dwindled  away,  till  she  was  left  alone. 
She  could  not  roam  about  and  amuse  herself,  for  the 
burnt  breadth  would  show,  so  she  stared  at  people  rather 
rorlornly  till  the  dancing  began.  Meg  was  asked  at  once, 
ind  the  tight  slippers  tripped  about  so  briskly  that  none 
would  have  guessed  the  pain  their  wearer  suffered  smil¬ 
ingly.  Jo  saw  a  big  red-headed  youth  approaching  her 
corner,  and  fearing  he  meant  to  engage  her,  she  slipped 
into  a  curtained  recess,  intending  to  peep  and  enjoy 
herself  in  peace.  Unfortunately,  another  bashful  person 
had  chosen  the  same  refuge ;  for,  as  the  curtain  fell 

3 


34  Little  Women 

behind  her,  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  the 
“  Laurence  boy.” 

“  Dear  me,  I  did  n’t  know  any  one  was  here  !  ”  stam¬ 
mered  Jo,  preparing  to  back  out  as  speedily  as  she  had 
bounced  in. 

But  the  boy  laughed,  and  said  pleasantly,  though  he 
looked  a  little  startled,  — 

“  Don’t  mind  me ;  stay,  if  you  like.” 

“  Sha’n’t  I  disturb  you?  ” 

“  Not  a  bit;  I  only  came  here  because  I  don’t  know 
many  people,  and  felt  rather  strange  at  first,  you 
know.” 

“  So  did  I.  Don’t  go  away,  please,  unless  you ’d 
rather.” 

The  boy  sat  down  again  and  looked  at  his  pumps,  till 
Jo  said,  trying  to  be  polite  and  easy,  — 

“  I  think  I ’ve  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  before ; 
you  live  near  us,  don’t  you?  ” 

“Next  door;”  and  he  looked  up  and  laughed  out¬ 
right,  for  Jo’s  prim  manner  was  rather  funny  when  he 
remembered  how  they  had  chatted  about  cricket  when 
he  brought  the  cat  home. 

That  put  Jo  at  her  ease;  and  she  laughed  too,  as  she 
said,  in  her  heartiest  way,  — 

“  We  did  have  such  a  good  time  over  your  nice  Christ¬ 
mas  present.” 

“  Grandpa  sent  it.” 

“But  you  put  it  into  his  head,  did  n’t  you,  now?” 

“How  is  your  cat,  Miss  March?”  asked  the  boy, 
trying  to  look  sober,  while  his  black  eyes  shone  with 
fun. 

“  Nicely,  thank  you,  Mr.  Laurence  ;  but  I  am  not  Miss 
March,  I ’m  only  Jo,”  returned  the  young  lady. 

“  I ’m  not  Mr.  Laurence,  I ’m  only  Laurie.” 


35 


The  Laurence  Boy 

“  Laurie  Laurence, —  what  an  odd  name  !  ” 

“  My  first  name  is  Theodore,  but  I  don’t  like  it,  for 
the  fellows  call  me  Dora,  so  I  made  them  say  Laurie 
instead.” 

“  I  hate  my  name,  too  —  so  sentimental !  I  wish  every 
one  would  say  Jo,  instead  of  Josephine.  How  did  you 
make  the  boys  stop  calling  you  Dora?  ” 

“  I  thrashed  ’em.” 

“  I  can’t  thrash  Aunt  March,  so  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
to  bear  it;  ”  and  Jo  resigned  herself  with  a  sigh. 

“Don’t  you  like  to  dance,  Miss  Jo?”  asked  Laurie, 
looking  as  if  he  thought  the  name  suited  her. 

“  I  like  it  well  enough  if  there  is  plenty  of  room,  and 
every  one  is  lively.  In  a  place  like  this  I ’m  sure  to  up¬ 
set  something,  tread  on  people’s  toes,  or  do  something 
dreadful,  so  I  keep  out  of  mischief,  and  let  Meg  sail  about. 
Don’t  you  dance?  ” 

“  Sometimes ;  you  see  I ’ve  been  abroad  a  good  many 
years,  and  have  n’t  been  into  company  enough  yet  to 
know  how  you  do  things  here.” 

“  Abroad  !  ”  cried  Jo.  “  Oh,  tell  me  about  it !  I  love 
dearly  to  hear  people  describe  their  travels.” 

Laurie  didn’t  seem  to  know  where  to  begin;  but  Jo’s 
eager  questions  soon  set  him  going,  and  he  told  her 
how  he  had  been  at  school  in  Vevay,  where  the  boys 
never  wore  hats,  and  had  a  fleet  of  boats  on  the  lake, 
and  for  holiday  fun  went  walking  trips  about  Switzerland 
with  their  teachers. 

“  Don’t  I  wish  I ’d  been  there  !  ”  cried  Jo.  “  Did  you 
go  to  Paris?  ” 

“  We  spent  last  winter  there.” 

“  Can  you  talk  French?  ” 

“  We  were  not  allowed  to  speak  anything  else  at 
Vevay.” 


Little  Women 


36 

“  Do  say  some  !  I  can  read  it,  but  can’t  pronounce.” 

“  Quel  nom  a  cette  jeune  demoiselle  en  les  pantoufles 
jolis?  ”  said  Laurie  good-naturedly. 

“  How  nicely  you  do  it !  Let  me  see,  —  you  said, 
4  Who  is  the  young  lady  in  the  pretty  slippers,’  did  n’t 
you  ?  ” 

“  Oui,  mademoiselle.” 

“It’s  my  sister  Margaret,  and  you  knew  it  was!  Do 
you  think  she  is  pretty?  ” 

“Yes;  she  makes  me  think  of  the  German  girls,  she 
looks  so  fresh  and  quiet,  and  dances  like  a  lady.” 

Jo  quite  glowed  with  pleasure  at  this  boyish  praise 
of  her  sister,  and  stored  it  up  to  repeat  to  Meg.  Both 
peeped  and  criticised  and  chatted,  till  they  felt  like  old 
acquaintances.  Laurie’s  bashfulness  soon  wore  off ;  for 
Jo’s  gentlemanly  demeanor  amused  and  set  him  at  his 
ease,  and  Jo  was  her  merry  self  again,  because  her  diess 
was  forgotten,  and  nobody  lifted  their  eyebrows  at  her. 
She  liked  the  “  Laurence  boy  ”  better  than  ever,  and 
took  several  good  looks  at  him,  so  that  she  might  de¬ 
scribe  him  to  the  girls ;  for  they  had  no  brothers,  very 
few  male  cousins,  and  boys  were  almost  unknown 
creatures  to  them. 

“  Curly  black  hair ;  brown  skin ;  big,  black  eyes ; 
handsome  nose ;  fine  teeth ;  small  hands  and  feet ; 
taller  than  I  am ;  very  polite,  for  a  boy,  and  altogether 
jolly.  Wonder  how  old  he  is?” 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Jo’s  tongue  to  ask;  but  she 
checked  herself  in  time,  and,  with  unusual  tact,  tried  to 
find  out  in  a  roundabout  way. 

“  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  college  soon?  I  see  you 
pegging  away  at  your  books,  —  no,  I  mean  studying 
hard  ;  ”  and  Jo  blushed  at  the  dreadful  “  pegging”  which 
had  escaped  her. 


The  Laurence  Boy  37 

Laurie  smiled,  but  did  n’t  seem  shocked,  and  answered, 
with  a  shrug,  — 

“  Not  for  a  year  or  two;  I  won’t  go  before  seventeen, 
anyway.” 

“Aren’t  you  but  fifteen?”  asked  Jo,  looking  at  the 
tall  lad,  whom  she  had  imagined  seventeen  already. 

“  Sixteen,  next  month.” 

“  How  I  wish  I  was  going  to  college  !  You  don’t  look 
as  if  you  liked  it.” 

“  I  hate  it !  Nothing  but  grinding  or  skylarking. 
And  I  don’t  like  the  way  fellows  do  either,  in  this 
country.” 

“  What  do  you  like?  ” 

“  To  live  in  Italy,  and  to  enjoy  myself  in  my  own 
way.” 

Jo  wanted  very  much  to  ask  what  his  own  way  was ; 
but  his  black  brows  looked  rather  threatening  as  he  knit 
them ;  so  she  changed  the  subject  by  saying,  as  her  foot 
kept  time,  “  That ’s  a  splendid  polka  !  Why  don’t  you 
go  and  try  it?  ” 

“  If  you  will  come  too,”  he  answered,  with  a  gallant 
little  bow. 

“I  can’t;  for  I  told  Meg  I  wouldn’t,  because — ” 
There  Jo  stopped,  and  looked  undecided  whether  to  tell 
or  to  laugh. 

“  Because  what?”  asked  Laurie  curiously. 

“  You  won’t  tell  ?  ” 

“  Never !  ” 

“  Well,  I  have  a  bad  trick  of  standing  before  the  fire, 
and  so  I  burn  my  frocks,  and  I  scorched  this  one ;  and, 
though  it ’s  nicely  mended,  it  shows,  and  Meg  told  me 
to  keep  still,  so  no  one  would  see  it.  You  may  laugh, 
if  you  want  to ;  it  is  funny,  I  know.” 

But  Laurie  didn’t  laugh;  he  only  looked  down  a 


Little  Women 


38 

minute,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  puzzled  Jo,  when 
he  said  very  gently,  — 

“  Never  mind  that;  I  ’ll  tell  you  how  we  can  manage: 
there ’s  a  long  hall  out  there,  and  we  can  dance  grandly, 
and  no  one  will  see  us.  Please  come?  ” 

Jo  thanked  him,  and  gladly  went,  wishing  she  had  two 
neat  gloves,  when  she  saw  the  nice,  pearl-colored  ones 
her  partner  wore.  The  hall  was  empty,  and  they  had  a 
grand  polka;  for  Laurie  danced  well,  and  taught  her  the 
German  step,  which  delighted  Jo,  being  full  of  swing  and 
spring.  When  the  music  stopped,  they  sat  down  on  the 
stairs  to  get  their  breath ;  and  Laurie  was  in  the  midst 
of  an  account  of  a  students’  festival  at  Heidelberg,  when 
Meg  appeared  in  search  of  her  sister.  She  beckoned, 
and  Jo  reluctantly  followed  her  into  a  side  room,  where 
she  found  her  on  a  sofa,  holding  her  foot,  and  looking 
pale. 

“  I  Ve  sprained  my  ankle.  That  stupid  high  heel 
turned,  and  gave  me  a  sad  wrench.  It  aches  so,  I  can 
hardly  stand,  and  I  don’t  know  how  I ’m  ever  going  to 
get  home,”  she  said,  rocking  to  and  fro  in  pain. 

“  I  knew  you ’d  hurt  your  feet  with  those  silly  shoes. 
I ’m  sorry.  But  I  don’t  see  what  you  can  do,  except 
get  a  carriage,  or  stay  here  all  night,”  answered  Jo,  softly 
rubbing  the  poor  ankle  as  she  spoke. 

“  I  can’t  have  a  carriage,  without  its  costing  ever  so 
much.  I  dare  say  I  can’t  get  one  at  all ;  for  most  people 
come  in  their  own,  and  it ’s  a  long  way  to  the  stable,  and 
no  one  to  send.” 

“I’ll  go.” 

“  No,  indeed  !  It ’s  past  nine,  and  dark  as  Egypt.  I 
can’t  stop  here,  for  the  house  is  full.  Sallie  has  some 
girls  staying  with  her.  I  ’ll  rest  till  Hannah  comes,  and 
then  do  the  best  I  can.” 


The  Laurence  Boy  39 

“  I  ’ll  ask  Laurie  ;  he  will  go,”  said  Jo,  looking  relieved 
as  the  idea  occurred  to  her. 

“  Mercy,  no  !  Don’t  ask  or  tell  any  one.  Get  me  my 
rubbers,  and  put  these  slippers  with  our  things.  I  can’t 
dance  any  more ;  but  as  soon  as  supper  is  over,  watch 
for  Hannah,  and  tell  me  the  minute  she  comes.” 

“  They  are  going  out  to  supper  now.  I  ’ll  stay  with 
you  ;  I  ’d  rather.” 

“  No,  dear,  run  along,  and  bring  me  some  coffee.  I  ’m 
so  tired,  I  can’t  stir  !  ” 

So  Meg  reclined,  with  rubbers  well  hidden,  and  Jo  went 
blundering  away  to  the  dining-room,  which  she  found 
after  going  into  a  china-closet,  and  opening  the  door  of 
a  room  where  old  Mr.  Gardiner  was  taking  a  little  private 
refreshment.  Making  a  dart  at  the  table,  she  secured  the 
coffee,  which  she  immediately  spilt,  thereby  making  the 
front  of  her  dress  as  bad  as  the  back. 

“  Oh,  dear,  what  a  blunderbuss  I  am !  ”  exclaimed  Jo, 
finishing  Meg’s  glove  by  scrubbing  her  gown  with  it. 

“  Can  I  help  you  ?  ”  said  a  friendly  voice ;  and  there 
was  Laurie,  with  a  full  cup  in  one  hand  and  a  plate  of 
ice  in  the  other. 

“  I  was'  trying  to  get  something  for  Meg,  who  is  very 
tired,  and  some  one  shook  me ;  and  here  I  am,  in  a  nice 
state,”  answered  Jo,  glancing  dismally  from  the  stained 
skirt  to  the  coffee-colored  glove. 

“  Too  bad  !  I  was  looking  for  some  one  to  give  this 
to.  May  I  take  it  to  your  sister?  ” 

“  Oh,  thank  you  !  I  ’ll  show  you  where  she  is.  I 
don’t  offer  to  take  it  myself,  for  I  should  only  get  into 
another  scrape  if  I  did.” 

Jo  led  the  way;  and,  as  if  used  to  waiting  on  ladies, 
Laurie  drew  up  a  little  table,  brought  a  second  instalment 
of  coffee  and  ice  for  Jo,  and  was  so  obliging  that  even 


Little  Women 


40 

particular  Meg  pronounced  him  a  “  nice  boy.”  They  had 
a  merry  time  over  the  bonbons  and  mottoes,  and  were  in 
the  midst  of  a  quiet  game  of  “  Buzz,”  with  two  or  three 
other  young  people  who  had  strayed  in,  when  Hannah 
appeared.  Meg  forgot  her  foot,  and  rose  so  quickly 
that  she  was  forced  to  catch  hold  of  Jo,  with  an  exclama¬ 
tion  of  pain. 

“  Hush  !  Don’t  say  anything,”  she  whispered,  adding 
aloud,  “  It ’s  nothing.  I  turned  my  foot  a  little,  that ’s 
all ;  ”  and  limped  upstairs  to  put  her  things  on. 

Hannah  scolded,  Meg  cried,  and  Jo  was  at  her  wits’ 
end,  till  she  decided  to  take  things  into  her  own  hands. 
Slipping  out,  she  ran  down,  and,  finding  a  servant, 
asked  if  he  could  get  her  a  carriage.  It  happened  to 
be  a  hired  waiter,  who  knew  nothing  about  the  neigh¬ 
borhood  ;  and  Jo  was  looking  round  for  help,  when 
Laurie,  wrho  had  heard  what  she  said,  came  up,  and 
offered  his  grandfather’s  carriage,  which  had  just  come 
for  him,  he  said. 

“  It ’s  so  early!  •  You  can’t  mean  to  go  yet?”  began 
Jo,  looking  relieved,  but  hesitating  to  accept  the  offer. 

“  I  always  go  early,  —  I  do,  truly  !  Please  let  me 
take  you  home?  It ’s  all  on  my  way,  you  know,  and  it 
rains,  they  say.” 

That  settled  it;  and,  telling  him  of  Meg's  mishap,  Jo 
gratefully  accepted,  and  rushed  up  to  bring  down  the 
rest  of  the  party.  Hannah  hated  rain  as  much  as  a  cat 
does ;  so  she  made  no  trouble,  and  they  rolled  away  in 
the  luxurious  close  carriage,  feeling  very  festive  and  ele¬ 
gant.  Laurie  went  on  the  box;  so  Meg  could  keep  her 
foot  up,  and  the  girls  talked  over  their  party  in  freedom. 

“I  had  a  capital  time.  Did  you?”  asked  Jo,  rum¬ 
pling  up  her  hair,  and  making  herself  comfortable. 

“  Yes,  till  I  hurt  myself.  Sallie’s  friend,  Annie  Moffat, 


The  Laurence  Boy  41 

took  a  fancy  to  me,  and  asked  me  to  come  and  spend  a 
week  with  her,  when  Sallie  does.  She  is  going  in  the 
spring,  when  the  opera  comes ;  and  it  will  be  perfectly 
splendid,  if  mother  only  lets  me  go/’  answered  Meg, 
cheering  up  at  the  thought. 

“  I  saw  you  dancing  with  the  red-headed  man  I  ran 
away  from.  Was  he  nice?” 

“  Oh,  very  !  His  hair  is  auburn,  not  red ;  and  he  was 
very  polite,  and  I  had  a  delicious  redowa  with  him.” 

“  He  looked  like  a  grasshopper  in  a  fit,  when  he  did 
the  new  step.  Laurie  and  I  could  n’t  help  laughing. 
Did  you  hear  us?” 

“  No  ;  but  it  was  very  rude.  What  were  you  about  all 
that  time,  hidden  away  there?  ” 

Jo  told  her  adventures,  and,  by  the  time  she  had  fin¬ 
ished,  they  were  at  home.  With  many  thanks,  they  said 
“  Good-night,”  and  crept  in,  hoping  to  disturb  no  one ; 
but  the  instant  their  door  creaked,  two  little  night-caps 
bobbed  up,  and  two  sleepy  but  eager  voices  cried  out,  — 

“Tell  about  the  party!  tell  about  the  party!  ” 

With  what  Meg  called  “  a  great  want  of  manners,”  Jo 
had  saved  some  bonbons  for  the  little  girls;  and  they 
soon  subsided,  after  hearing  the  most  thrilling  events  of 
the  evening. 

“  I  declare,  it  really  seems  like  being  a  fine  young  lady, 
to  come  home  from  the  party  in  a  carriage,  and  sit  in  my 
dressing-gown,  with  a  maid  to  wait  on  me,”  said  Meg,  as 
Jo  bound  up  her  foot  with  arnica,  and  brushed  her  hair. 

“  I  don’t  believe  fine  young  ladies  enjoy  themselves  a 
bit  more  than  we  do,  in  spite  of  our  burnt  hair,  old  gowns, 
one  glove  apiece,  and  tight  slippers  that  sprain  our  ankles 
when  we  are  silly  enough  to  wear  them.”  And  I  think 
Jo  was  quite  right. 


42 


Little  Women 


CHAPTER  IV 

BURDENS 

**  H  dear,  how  hard  it  does  seem  to  take  up  our 

H  I  packs  and  go  on,”  sighed  Meg,  the  morning 
after  the  party ;  for,  now  the  holidays  were 
over,  the  week  of  merry-making  did  not  fit  her  for  go¬ 
ing  on  easily  with  the  task  she  never  liked. 

“I  wish  it  was  Christmas  or  New-Year  all  the  time; 
would  n’t  it  be  fun?  ”  answered  Jo,  yawning  dismally. 

“  We  should  n’t  enjoy  ourselves  half  so  much  as  we  do 
now.  But  it  does  seem  so  nice  to  have  little  suppers  and 
bouquets,  and  go  to  parties,  and  drive  home,  and  read 
and  rest,  and  not  work.  It ’s  like  other  people,  you 
know,  and  I  always  envy  girls  who  do  such  things ;  I ’m 
so  fond  of  luxury,”  said  Meg,  trying  to  decide  which  of 
two  shabby  gowns  was  the  least  shabby. 

“Well,  we  can’t  have  it,  so  don’t  let  us  grumble,  but 
shoulder  our  bundles  and  trudge  along  as  cheerfully  as 
Marmee  does.  I ’m  sure  Aunt  March  is  a  regular  Old 
Man  of  the  Sea  to  me,  but  I  suppose  when  I ’ve  learned 
to  carry  her  without  complaining,  she  will  tumble  off,  or 
get  so  light  that  I  sha’n’t  mind  her.” 

This  idea  tickled  Jo’s  fancy,  and  put  her  in  good  spirits  ; 
but  Meg  did  n’t  brighten,  for  her  burden,  consisting  of 
four  spoilt  children,  seemed  heavier  than  ever.  She 
had  n’t  heart  enough  even  to  make  herself  pretty,  as 
usual,  by  putting  on  a  blue  neck-ribbon,  and  dressing 
her  hair  in  the  most  becoming  way. 

“  Where ’s  the  use  of  looking  nice,  when  no  one  sees 
me  but  those  cross  midgets,  and  no  one  cares  whether 
I’m  pretty  or  not?”  she  muttered,  shutting  her  drawer 


Burdens 


43 

with  a  jerk.  “  I  shall  have  to  toil  and  moil  all  my  days, 
with  only  little  bits  of  fun  now  and  then,  and  get  old  and 
ugly  and  sour,  because  I  ’m  poor,  and  can’t  enjoy  my  life 
as  other  girls  do.  It’s  a  shame  !  ” 

So  Meg  went  down,  wearing  an  injured  look,  and 
was  n’t  at  all  agreeable  at  breakfast-time.  Every  one 
seemed  rather  out  of  sorts,  and  inclined  to  croak.  Beth 
had  a  headache,  and  lay  on  the  sofa,  trying  to  comfort 
herself  with  the  cat  and  three  kittens  ;  Amy  was  fretting 
because  her  lessons  were  not  learned,  and  she  could  n’t 
find  her  rubbers;  Jo  would  whistle  and  make  a  great 
racket  getting  ready;  Mrs.  March  was  very  busy  trying 
to  finish  a  letter,  which  must  go  at  once ;  and  Hannah 
had  the  grumps,  for  being  up  late  did  n’t  suit  her. 

“There  never  was  such  a  cross  family!”  cried  Jo, 
losing  her  temper  when  she  had  upset  an  inkstand,  broken 
both  boot-lacings,  and  sat  down  upon  her  hat. 

“You’re  the  crossest  person  in  it!”  returned  Amy, 
washing  out  the  sum,  that  was  all  wrong,  with  the  tears 
that  had  fallen  on  her  slate. 

“  Beth,  if  you  don’t  keep  these  horrid  cats  down  cellar 
I  ’ll  have  them  drowned,”  exclaimed  Meg  angrily,  as  she 
tried  to  get  rid  of  the  kitten,  which  had  scrambled  up 
her  back,  and  stuck  like  a  burr  just  out  of  reach. 

Jo  laughed,  Meg  scolded,  Beth  implored,  and  Amy 
wailed,  because  she  could  n’t  remember  how  much  nine 
times  twelve  was. 

“  Girls,  girls,  do  be  quiet  one  minute  !  I  must  get  this 
off  by  the  early  mail,  and  you  drive  me  distracted  with 
your  worry,”  cried  Mrs.  March,  crossing  out  the  third 
spoilt  sentence  in  her  letter. 

There  was  a  momentary  lull,  broken  by  Hannah,  who 
stalked  in,  laid  two  hot  turn-overs  on  the  table,  and 
stalked  out  again.  These  turn-overs  were  an  institu 


Little  Women 


44 

tion;  and  the  girls  called  them  “  muffs,”  for  they  had  no 
others,  and  found  the  hot  pies  very  comforting  to  their 
hands  on  cold  mornings.  Hannah  never  forgot  to  make 
them,  no  matter  how  busy  or  grumpy  she  might  be,  for 
the  walk  was  long  and  bleak ;  the  poor  things  got  no 
other  lunch,  and  were  seldom  home  before  two. 

“  Cuddle  your  cats,  and  get  over  your  headache,  Bethy. 
Good-by,  Marmee;  we  are  a  set  of  rascals  this  morning, 
but  we  ’ll  come  home  regular  angels.  Now  then,  Meg  !  ” 
and  Jo  tramped  away,  feeling  that  the  pilgrims  were  not 
setting  out  as  they  ought  to  do. 

They  always  looked  back  before  turning  the  corner,  for 
their  mother  was  always  at  the  window,  to  nod  and  smile, 
and  wave  her  hand  to  them.  Somehow  it  seemed  as  if 
they  could  n’t  have  got  through  the  day  without  that ; 
for,  whatever  their  mood  might  be,  the  last  glimpse  of 
that  motherly  face  was  sure  to  affect  them  like  sun¬ 
shine. 

“  If  Marmee  shook  her  fist  instead  of  kissing  her  hand 
to  us,  it  would  serve  us  right,  for  more  ungrateful  wretches 
than  we  are  were  never  seen,”  cried  Jo,  taking  a  remorse 
ful  satisfaction  in  the  snowy  walk  and  bitter  wind. 

“  Don’t  use  such  dreadful  expressions,”  said  Meg, 
from  the  depths  of  the  veil  in  which  she  had  shrouded 
herself  like  a  nun  sick  of  the  world. 

“  I  like  good  strong  words,  that  mean  something,” 
replied  Jo,  catching  her  hat  as  it  took  a  leap  off  her 
head,  preparatory  to  flying  away  altogether. 

“  Call  yourself  any  names  you  like ;  but  /  am  neither 
a  rascal  nor  a  wretch,  and  I  don’t  choose  to  be  called 
so.” 

“  You  ’re  a  blighted  being,  and  decidedly  cross  to-day 
because  you  can’t  sit  in  the  lap  of  luxury  all  the  time. 
Poor  dear,  just  wait  till  I  make  my  fortune,  and  you 


Burdens 


45 

shall  revel  in  carriages  and  ice-cream  and  high-heeled 
slippers  and  posies  and  red-headed  boys  to  dance  with.” 

“  How  ridiculous  you  are,  Jo!  ”  but  Meg  laughed  at 
the  nonsense,  and  felt  better  in  spite  of  herself. 

“  Lucky  for  you  I  am  ;  for  if  I  put  on  crushed  airs,  and 
tried  to  be  dismal,  as  you  do,  we  should  be  in  a  nice 
state.  Thank  goodness,  I  can  always  find  something 
funny  to  keep  me  up.  Don’t  croak  any  more,  but  come 
home  jolly,  there  ’s  a  dear.” 

Jo  gave  her  sister  an  encouraging  pat  on  the  shoulder 
as  they  parted  for  the  day,  each  going  a  different  way, 
each  hugging  her  little  warm  turn-over,  and  each  trying 
to  be  cheerful  in  spite  of  wintry  weather,  hard  work,  and 
the  unsatisfied  desires  of  pleasure-loving  youth. 

When  Mr.  March  lost  his  property  in  trying  to  help 
an  unfortunate  friend,  the  two  oldest  girls  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  do  something  toward  their  own  support,  at 
least.  Believing  that  they  could  not  begin  too  early 
to  cultivate  energy,  industry,  and  independence,  their 
parents  consented,  and  both  fell  to  work  with  the  hearty 
good-will  which  in  spite  of  all  obstacles,  is  sure  to  sue’ 
ceed  at  last.  Margaret  found  a  place  as  nursery  gov¬ 
erness,  and  felt  rich  with  her  small  salary.  As  she  said, 
she  was  “  fond  of  luxury,”  and  her  chief  trouble  was 
poverty.  She  found  it  harder  to  bear  than  the  others, 
because  she  could  remember  a  time  when  home  was 
beautiful,  life  full  of  ease  and  pleasure,  and  want  of  any 
kind  unknown.  She  tried  not  to  be  envious  or  discon¬ 
tented,  but  it  was  very  natural  that  the  young  girl  should 
long  for  pretty  things,  gay  friends,  accomplishments, 
and  a  happy  life.  At  the  Kings’  she  daily  saw  all  she 
wanted,  for  the  children’s  older  sisters  were  just  out,  and 
Meg  caught  frequent  glimpses  of  dainty  ball-dresses  and 
bouquets,  heard  lively  gossip  about  theatres,  concerts, 


Little  Women 


46 

sleighing  parties,  and  merry-makings  of  all  kinds,  and 
saw  money  lavished  on  trifles  which  would  have  been  so 
precious  to  her.  Poor  Meg  seldom  complained,  but  a 
sense  of  injustice  made  her  feel  bitter  toward  every  one 
sometimes,  for  she  had  not  yet  learned  to  know  how 
rich  she  was  in  the  blessings  which  alone  can  make  life 
happy. 

Jo  happened  to  suit  Aunt  March,  who  was  lame,  and 
needed  an  active  person  to  wait  upon  her.  The  childless 
old  lady  had  offered  to  adopt  one  of  the  girls  when 
the  troubles  came,  and  was  much  offended  because  her 
offer  was  declined.  Other  friends  told  the  Marches  that 
they  had  lost  all  chance  of  being  remembered  in  the 
rich  old  lady’s  will ;  but  the  unworldly  Marches  only 
said,  — 

“  We  can’t  give  up  our  girls  for  a  dozen  fortunes. 
Rich  or  poor,  we  will  keep  together  and  be  happy  in 
one  another.” 

The  old  lady  would  n’t  speak  to  them  for  a  time,  but 
happening  to  meet  Jo  at  a  friend’s,  something  in  her 
comical  face  and  blunt  manners  struck  the  old  lady’s 
fancy,  and  she  proposed  to  take  her  for  a  companion. 
This  did  not  suit  Jo  at  all;  but  she  accepted  the  place 
since  nothing  better  appeared,  and,  to  every  one’s  sur¬ 
prise,  got  on  remarkably  well  with  her  irascible  relative. 
There  was  an  occasional  tempest,  and  once  Jo  had 
marched  home,  declaring  she  could  n’t  bear  it  any  longer  ; 
but  Aunt  March  always  cleared  up  quickly,  and  sent  for 
her  back  again  with  such  urgency  that  she  could  not 
refuse,  for  in  her  heart  she  rather  liked  the  peppery  old 
lady. 

I  suspect  that  the  real  attraction  was  a  large  library  of 
fine  books,  which  was  left  to  dust  and  spiders  since 
Uncle  March  died.  Jo  remembered  the  kind  old  gen- 


Burdens 


47 

tleman,  who  used  to  let  her  build  railroads  and  bridges 
with  his  big  dictionaries,  tell  her  stories  about  the  queer 
pictures  in  his  Latin  books,  and  buy  her  cards  of  ginger¬ 
bread  whenever  he  met  her  in  the  street.  The  dim, 
dusty  room,  with  the  busts  staring  down  from  the  tall 
book-cases,  the  cosey  chairs,  the  globes,  and,  best  of  all, 
the  wilderness  of  books,  in  which  she  could  wander  where 
she  liked,  made  the  library  a  region  of  bliss  to  her.  The 
moment  Aunt  March  took  her  nap,  or  was  busy  with 
company,  Jo  hurried  to  this  quiet  place,  and,  curling 
herself  up  in  the  easy-chair,  devoured  poetry,  romance, 
history,  travels,  and  pictures,  like  a  regular  book-worm. 
But,  like  all  happiness,  it  did  not  last  long;  for  as  sure 
as  she  had  just  reached  the  heart  of  the  story,  the  sweet¬ 
est  verse  of  the  song,  or  the  most  perilous  adventure  of 
her  traveller,  a  shrill  voice  called,  “Josy-phine!  Josy- 
phine  !  ”  and  she  had  to  leave  her  paradise  to  wind  yarn, 
wash  the  poodle,  or  read  Belsham’s  Essays  by  the  hour 
together. 

Jo’s  ambition  was  to  do  something  very  splendid  ;  what 
it  was  she  had  no  idea,  as  yet,  but  left  it  for  time  to 
tell  her;  and,  meanwhile,  found  her  greatest  affliction 
in  the  fact  that  she  could  n’t  read,  run,  and  ride  as 
much  as  she  liked.  A  quick  temper,  sharp  tongue, 
and  restless  spirit  were  always  getting  her  into  scrapes, 
and  her  life  was  a  series  of  ups  and  downs,  which 
were  both  comic  and  pathetic.  But  the  training  she 
received  at  Aunt  March  s  was  just  what  she  needed , 
and  the  thought  that  she  was  doing  something  to  sup¬ 
port  herself  made  her  happy,  in  spite  of  the  perpetual 
“  Josy-phine  !  ” 

Beth  was  too  bashful  to  go  to  school ;  it  had  been 
tried,  but  she  suffered  so  much  that  it  was  given  up, 
and  she  did  her  lessons  at  home,  with  her  father.  Even 


Little  Women 


48 

when  he  went  away,  and  her  mother  was  called  to  de¬ 
vote  her  skill  and  energy  to  Soldiers’  Aid  Societies, 
Beth  went  faithfully  on  by  herself,  and  did  the  best  she 
could.  She  was  a  housewifely  little  creature,  and  helped 
Hannah  keep  home  neat  and  comfortable  for  the  work¬ 
ers,  never  thinking  of  any  reward  but  to  be  loved.  Long, 
quiet  days  she  spent,  not  lonely  nor  idle,  for  her  little 
world  was  peopled  with  imaginary  friends,  and  she  was 
by  nature  a  busy  bee.  There  were  six  dolls  to  be  taken 
up  and  dressed  every  morning,  for  Beth  was  a  child  still, 
and  loved  her  pets  as  well  as  ever.  Not  one  whole  or 
handsome  one  among  them ;  all  were  outcasts  till  Beth 
took  them  in ;  for,  when  her  sisters  outgrew  these  idols, 
they  passed  to  her,  because  Amy  would  have  nothing 
old  or  ugly.  Beth  cherished  them  all  the  more  tenderly 
for  that  very  reason,  and  set  up  a  hospital  for  infirm 
dolls.  No  pins  were  ever  stuck  into  their  cotton  vitals; 
no  harsh  words  or  blows  were  ever  given  them ;  no 
neglect  ever  saddened  the  heart  of  the  most  repulsive : 
but  all  were  fed  and  clothed,  nursed  and  caressed,  with 
an  affection  which  never  failed.  One  forlorn  fragment 
of  dollanity  had  belonged  to  Jo;  and,  having  led  a  tem¬ 
pestuous  life,  was  left  a  wreck  in  the  ragbag,  from  which 
dreary  poorhouse  it  was  rescued  by  Beth,  and  taken  to 
her  refuge.  Having  no  top  to  its  head,  she  tied  on  a 
neat  little  cap,  and,  as  both  arms  and  legs  were  gone, 
she  hid  these  deficiencies  by  folding  it  in  a  blanket,  and 
devoting  her  best  bed  to  this  chronic  invalid.  If  any 
one  had  known  the  care  lavished  on  that  dolly,  ] 
think  it  would  have  touched  their  hearts,  even  while 
they  laughed.  She  brought  it  bits  of  bouquets ;  she 
read  to  it,  took  it  out  to  breathe  the  air,  hidden  under 
her  coat;  she  sung  it  lullabys,  and  never  went  to  bed 
without  kissing  its  dirty  face,  and  whispering  ten- 


Burdens 


49 

derly,  “  I  hope  you  ’ll  have  a  good  night,  my  poor 
dear.” 

Beth  had  her  troubles  as  well  as  the  others ;  and  not 
being  an  angel,  but  a  very  human  little  girl,  she  often 
“  wept  a  little  weep,”  as  Jo  said,  because  she  could  n’t 
take  music  lessons  and  have  a  fine  piano.  She  loved 
music  so  dearly,  tried  so  hard  to  learn,  and  practised 
away  so  patiently  at  the  jingling  old  instrument,  that  it 
did  seem  as  if  some  one  (not  to  hint  Aunt  March)  ought 
to  help  her,  Nobody  did,  however,  and  nobody  saw 
Beth  wipe  the  tears  off  the  yellow  keys,  that  would  n’t 
keep  in  tune,  when  she  was  all  alone.  She  sang  like  a 
little  lark  about  her  work,  never  was  too  tired  to  play  for 
Marmee  and  the  girls,  and  day  after  day  said  hopefully 
to  herself,  “  I  know  I  ’ll  get  my  music  some  time,  if  I ’m 
good.” 

There  are  many  Beths  in  the  world,  shy  and  quiet, 
sitting  in  corners  till  needed,  and  living  for  others  so 
cheerfully  that  no  one  sees  the  sacrifices  till  the  little 
cricket  on  the  hearth  stops  chirping,  and  the  sweet,  sun¬ 
shiny  presence  vanishes,  leaving  silence  and  shadow 
behind. 

If  anybody  had  asked  Amy  what  the  greatest  trial  of 
her  file  was,  she  would  have  answered  at  once,  “  My 
nose.”  When  she  was  a  baby,  Jo  had  accidentally 
dropped  her  into  the  coal-hod,  and  Amy  insisted  tha' 
the  fall  had  ruined  ,  her  nose  forever.  It  was  not  big, 
nor  red,  like  poor  “  Petrea’s  ” ;  it  was  only  rather  flat, 
and  all  the  pinching  in  the  world  could  not  give  it  an 
aristocratic  point.  No  one  minded  it  but  herself,  and 
it  was  doing  its  best  to  grow,  but  Amy  felt  deeply  the 
want  of  a  Grecian  nose,  and  drew  whole  sheets  of  hand¬ 
some  ones  to  console  herself. 

“  Little  Raphael,”  as  her  sisters  called  her,  had  a 

4 


Little  Women 


5° 

decided  talent  for  drawing,  and  was  never  so  happy  as 
when  copying  flowers,  designing  fairies,  or  illustrating 
stories  with  queer  specimens  of  art.  Her  teachers  com¬ 
plained  that,  instead  of  doing  her  sums,  she  covered 
her  slate  with  animals ;  the  blank  pages  of  her  atlas 
were  used  to  copy  maps  on ;  and  caricatures  of  the 
most  ludicrous  description  came  fluttering  out  of  all 
her  books  at  unlucky  moments.  She  got  through  her 
lessons  as  well  as  she  could,  and  managed  to  escape 
reprimands  by  being  a  model  of  deportment.  She  was 
a  great  favorite  with  her  mates,  being  good-tempered, 
and  possessing  the  happy  art  of  pleasing  without  effort. 
Her  little  airs  and  graces  were  much  admired,  so  were 
her  accomplishments ;  for  beside  her  drawing,  she  could 
play  twelve  tunes,  crochet,  and  read  French  without  mis¬ 
pronouncing  more  than  two  thirds  of  the  words.  She 
had  a  plaintive  way  of  saying,  “  When  papa  was  rich  we 
did  so-and-so,”  which  was  very  touching  ;  and  her  long 
words  were  considered  “  perfectly  elegant  ”  by  the  girls. 

Amy  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be  spoilt ;  for  every  one 
petted  her,  and  her  small  vanities  and  selfishnesses  were 
growing  nicely.  One  thing,  however,  rather  quenched 
the  vanities  ;  she  had  to  wear  her  cousin’s  clothes.  Now 
Florence’s  mamma  had  n’t  a  particle  of  taste,  and  Amy 
suffered  deeply  at  having  to  wear  a  red  instead  of  a  blue 
bonnet,  unbecoming  gowns,  and  fussy  aprons  that  did 
not  fit.  Everything  was  good,  well  made,  and  little 
worn ;  but  Amy’s  artistic  eyes  were  much  afflicted, 
especially  this  winter,  when  her  school  dress  was  a  dull 
purple,  with  yellow  dots,  and  no  trimming. 

“  My  only  comfort,”  she  said  to  Meg,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  “  is,  that  mother  don’t  take  tucks  in  my  dresses 
whenever  I ’m  naughty,  as  Maria  Parks’  mother  does. 
My  dear,  it ’s  really  dreadful ;  for  sometimes  she  is  so 


Burdens 


5 1 

bad,  her  frock  is  up  to  her  knees,  and  she  can’t  come  to 
school.  When  I  think  of  this  deggerredation ,  I  feel  that 
I  can  bear  even  my  flat  nose  and  purple  gown,  with 
yellow  sky-rockets  on  it.” 

Meg  was  Amy’s  confidant  and  monitor,  and,  by  some 
strange  attraction  of  opposites,  Jo  was  gentle  Beth’s. 
To  Jo  alone  did  the  shy  child  tell  her  thoughts;  and 
over  her  big,  harum-scarum  sister,  Beth  unconsciously 
exercised  more  influence  than  any  one  in  the  family. 
The  two  older  girls  were  a  great  deal  to  one  another, 
but  each  took  one  of  the  younger  into  her  keeping,  and 
watched  over  her  in  her  own  way;  “  playing  mother” 
they  called  it,  and  put  their  sisters  in  the  places  of  dis¬ 
carded  dolls,  with  the  maternal  instinct  of  little  women. 

“Has  anybody  got  anything  to  tell?  It’s  been  such 
a  dismal  day  I ’m  really  dying  for  some  amusement,” 
said  Meg,  as  they  sat  sewing  together  that  evening. 

“  I  had  a  queer  time  with  aunt  to-day,  and,  as  I  got 
the  best  of  it,  I  ’ll  tell  you  about  it,”  began  Jo,  who 
dearly  loved  to  tell  stories.  “  I  was  reading  that  ever¬ 
lasting  Belsham,  and  droning  away  as  I  always  do,  for 
aunt  soon  drops  off,  and  then  I  take  out  some  nice  book, 
and  read  like  fury  till  she  wakes  up.  I  actually  made 
myself  sleepy;  and,  before  she  began  to  nod,  I  gave 
such  a  gape  that  she  asked  me  what  I  meant  by  open¬ 
ing  my  mouth  wide  enough  to  take  the  whole  book  in 
at  once. 

“  ‘  I  wish  I  could,  and  be  done  with  it,’  said  I,  trying 
not  to  be  saucy. 

“  Then  she  gave  me  a  long  lecture  on  my  sins,  and 
told  me  to  sit  and  think  them  over  while  she  just  ‘  lost’ 
herself  for  a  moment.  She  never  finds  herself  very 
soon  ;  so  the  minute  her  cap  began  to  bob,  like  a  top- 
heavy  dahlia,  I  whipped  the  ‘  Vicar  of  Wakefield  ’  out  of 


Little  Women 


52 

my  pocket,  and  read  away,  with  one  eye  on  him,  and 
one  on  aunt.  I’d  just  got  to  where  they  all  tumbled 
into  the  water,  when  I  forgot,  and  laughed  out  loud. 
Aunt  woke  up ;  and,  being  more  good-natured  after  her 
nap,  told  me  to  read  a  bit,  and  show  what  frivolous  work 
I  preferred  to  the  worthy  and  instructive  Belsham.  I  did 
my  very  best,  and  she  liked  it,  though  she  only  said,  — 
“  ‘  I  don’t  understand  what  it ’s  all  about.  Go  back 
and  begin  it,  child.’ 

“  Back  I  went,  and  made  the  Primroses  as  interesting 
as  ever  I  could.  Once  I  was  wicked  enough  to  stop  in 
a  thrilling  place,  and  say  meekly,  ‘  I ’m  afraid  it  tires 
you,  ma’am  ;  sha’n’t  I  stop  now?  ’ 

“  She  caught  up  her  knitting,  which  had  dropped  out 
of  her  hands,  gave  me  a  sharp  look  through  her  specs, 
and  said,  in  her  short  way,  — 

“  ‘  Finish  the  chapter,  and  don’t  be  impertinent,  miss.’  ” 
“  Did  she  own  she  liked  it?  ”  asked  Meg. 

“Oh,  bless  you,  no!  but  she  let  old  Belsham  rest; 
and,  when  I  ran  back  after  my  gloves  this  afternoon, 
there  she  was,  so  hard  at  the  Vicar  that  she  did  n’t  hear 
me  laugh  as  I  danced  a  jig  in  the  hall,  because  of  the 
good  time  coming.  What  a  pleasant  life  she  might 
have,  if  she  only  chose.  I  don’t  envy  her  much,  in 
spite  of  her  money,  for  after  all  rich  people  have  about 
as  many  worries  as  poor  ones,  I  think,”  added  Jo. 

“  That  reminds  me,”  said  Meg,  “  that  I ’ve  got  some¬ 
thing  to  tell.  It  is  n’t  funny,  like  Jo’s  story,  but  I 
thought  about  it  a  good  deal  as  I  came  home.  At  the 
Kings’  to-day  I  found  everybody  in  a  flurry,  and  one  of 
the  children  said  that  her  oldest  brother  had  done 
something  dreadful,  and  papa  had  sent  him  away.  I 
heard  Mrs.  King  crying  and  Mr.  King  talking  very  loud, 
and  Grace  and  Ellen  turned  away  their  faces  when  they 


Burdens 


53 

passed  me,  so  I  should  n’t  see  how  red  their  eyes  were. 
I  did  n’t  ask  any  questions,  of  course;  but  I  felt  so 
sorry  for  them,  and  was  rather  glad  I  had  n’t  any  wild 
brothers  to  do  wicked  things  and  disgrace  the  family.” 

“  I  think  being  disgraced  in  school  is  a  great  deal 
tr yinger  than  anything  bad  boys  can  do,”  said  Amy, 
shaking  her  head,  as  if  her  experience  of  life  had  been 
a  deep  one.  “  Susie  Perkins  came  to  school  to-day 
with  a  lovely  red  carnelian  ring ;  I  wanted  it  dreadfully, 
and  wished  I  was  her  with  all  my  might.  Well,  she 
drew  a  picture  of  Mr.  Davis,  with  a  monstrous  nose  and 
a  hump,  and  the  words,  ‘Young  ladies,  my  eye  is  upon 
you  !  ’  coming  out  of  his  mouth  in  a  balloon  thing.  We 
were  laughing  over  it,  when  all  of  a  sudden  his  eye  was 
on  us,  and  he  ordered  Susie  to  bring  up  her  slate.  She 
was  parryllzed  with  fright,  but  she  went,  and  oh,  what 
do  you  think  he  did?  He  took  her  by  the  ear,  —  the 
ear  !  just  fancy  how  horrid  !  • —  and  led  her  to  the  reci¬ 
tation  platform,  and  made  her  stand  there  half  an  houq 
holding  that  slate  so  every  one  could  see.” 

“  Did  n’t  the  girls  laugh  at  the  picture?”  asked  Jo, 
who  relished  the  scrape. 

“  Laugh?  Not  one!  They  sat  as  still  as  mice;  and 
Susie  cried  quarts,  I  know  she  did.  I  did  n’t  envy  her 
then  ;  for  I  felt  that  millions  of  carnelian  rings  would  n’t 
have  made  me  happy,  after  that.  I  never,  never  should 
have  got  over  such  a  agonizing  mortification.”  And 
Amy  went  on  with  her  work,  in  the  proud  consciousness 
of  virtue,  and  the  successful  utterance  of  two  long 
words  in  a  breath. 

“  I  saw  something  that  I  liked  this  morning,  and  I 
meant  to  tell  it  at  dinner,  but  I  forgot,”  said  Beth,  put¬ 
ting  Jo’s  topsy-turvy  basket  in  order  as  she  talked. 
“  When  I  went  to  get  some  oysters  for  Hannah,  Mr. 


Little  Women 


54 

Laurence  was  In  the  fish-shop ;  but  he  did  n’t  see  me, 
for  I  kept  behind  a  barrel,  and  he  was  busy  with  Mr. 
Cutter,  the  fish-man.  A  poor  woman  came  in,  with  a 
pail  and  a  mop,  and  asked  Mr.  Cutter  if  he  would  let 
her  do  some  scrubbing  for  a  bit  of  fish,  because  she 
had  n’t  any  dinner  for  her  children,  and  had  been  dis¬ 
appointed  of  a  day’s  work.  Mr.  Cutter  was  in  a  hurry, 
and  said  ‘  No,’  rather  crossly;  so  she  was  going  away, 
looking  hungry  and  sorry,  when  Mr.  Laurence  hooked 
up  a  big  fish  with  the  crooked  end  of  his  cane,  and  held 
it  out  to  her.  She  was  so  glad  and  surprised,  she  took  it 
right  in  her  arms,  and  thanked  him  over  and  over.  He 
told  her  to  *  go  along  and  cook  it,’  and  she  hurried  off, 
so  happy!  Was  n’t  it  good  of  him?  Oh,  she  did  look 
so  funny,  hugging  the  big,  slippery  fish,  and  hoping 
Mr.  Laurence’s  bed  in  heaven  would  be  ‘  aisy.’  ” 

When  they  had  laughed  at  Beth’s  story,  they  asked 
their  mother  for  one ;  and,  after  a  moment’s  thought, 
she  said  soberly, — 

“  As  I  sat  cutting  out  blue  flannel  jackets  to-day,  at 
the  rooms,  I  felt  very  anxious  about  father,  and  thought 
how  lonely  and  helpless  we  should  be,  if  anything  hap¬ 
pened  to  him.  It  was  not  a  wise  thing  to  do;  but  I 
kept  on  worrying,  till  an  old  man  came  in,  with  an 
order  for  some  clothes.  He  sat  down  near  me,  and  I 
began  to  talk  to  him ;  for  he  looked  poor  and  tired 
and  anxious. 

“‘Have  you  sons  in  the  army?’  I  asked;  for  the 
note  he  brought  was  not  to  me. 

“  ‘  Yes,  ma’am.  I  had  four,  but  two  were  killed,  one 
is  a  prisoner,  and  I ’m  going  to  the  other,  who  is  very 
sick  in  a  Washington  hospital,’  he  answered  quietly. 

“‘You  have  done  a  great  deal  for  your  country,  sir/ 
I  said,  feeling  respect  now,  instead  of  pity. 


Burdens 


55 

“‘Not  a  mite  more  than  I  ought,  ma’am.  I’d  go 
myself,  if  I  was  any  use ;  as  I  ain’t,  I  give  my  boys,  and 
give  ’em  free.’ 

“He  spoke  so  cheerfully,  looked  so  sincere,  and 
seemed  so  glad  to  give  his  all,  that  I  was  ashamed  of 
myself.  I ’d  given  one  man,  and  thought  it  too  much, 
while  he  gave  four,  without  grudging  them.  I  had  all 
my  girls  to  comfort  me  at  home ;  and  his  last  son  was 
waiting,  miles  away,  to  say  ‘  good-by  ’  to  him,  perhaps! 
I  felt  so  rich,  so  happy,  thinking  of  my  blessings, 
that  I  made  him  a  nice  bundle,  gave  him  some 
money,  and  thanked  him  heartily  for  the  lesson  he 
had  taught  me.” 

“Tell  another  story,  mother,  —  one  with  a  moral  to 
it,  like  this.  I  like  to  think  about  them  afterwards, 
if  they  are  real,  and  not  too  preachy,”  said  Jo,  after  a 
minute’s  silence. 

Mrs.  March  smiled,  and  began  at  once ;  for  she  had 
told  stories  to  this  little  audience  for  many  years,  and 
knew  how  to  please  them. 

“  Once  upon  a  time,  there  were  four  girls,  who  had 
enough  to  eat  and  drink  and  wear,  a  good  many  com¬ 
forts  and  pleasures,  kind  friends  and  parents,  who  loved 
them  dearly,  and  yet  they  were  not  contented.”  (Here 
the  listeners  stole  sly  looks  at  one  another,  and  began 
to  sew  diligently.)  “  These  girls  were  anxious  to  be 
good,  and  made  many  excellent  resolutions;  but  they 
did  not  keep  them  very  well,  and  were  constantly  say* 
ing,  ‘  If  we  only  had  this,’  or  ‘  If  we  could  only  do  that,’ 
quite  forgetting  how  much  they  already  had,  and  how 
many  pleasant  things  they  actually  could  do.  So  they 
asked  an  old  woman  w'hat  spell  they  could  use  to 
make  them  happy,  and  she  said,  ‘  When  you  feel  dis¬ 
contented,  think  over  your  blessings,  and  be  grateful.’  ” 


Little  Women 


56 

(Here  Jo  looked  up  quickly,  as  if  about  to  speak,  but 
changed  her  mind,  seeing  that  the  story  was  not  done 
yet.) 

“  Being  sensible  girls,  they  decided  to  try  her  advice, 
and  soon  were  surprised  to  see  howr  well  off  they  were. 
One  discovered  that  money  could  n’t  keep  shame  and 
sorrow  out  of  rich  people’s  houses  ;  another  that,  though 
she  was  poor,  she  was  a  great  deal  happier,  with  her 
youth,  health,  and  good  spirits,  than  a  certain  fretful, 
feeble  old  lady,  who  couldn’t  enjoy  her  comforts;  a 
third  that,  disagreeable  as  it  was  to  help  get  dinner, 
it  was  harder  still  to  have  to  go  begging  for  it; 
and  the  fourth,  that  even  carnelian  rings  were  not  so 
valuable  as  good  behavior.  So  they  agreed  to  stop 
complaining,  to  enjoy  the  blessings  already  possessed, 
and  try  to  deserve  them,  lest  they  should  be  taken  away 
entirely,  instead  of  increased ;  and  I  believe  they  were 
never  disappointed,  or  sorry  that  they  took  the  old 
woman’s  advice.” 

“  Now,  Marmee,  that  is  very  cunning  of  you  to  turn 
our  own  stories  against  us,  and  give  us  a  sermon  instead 
of  a  romance !  ”  cried  Meg. 

“  I  like  that  kind  of  sermon.  It ’s  the  sort  father 
used  to  tell  us,”  said  Beth  thoughtfully,  putting  the 
needles  straight  on  Jo’s  cushion. 

“  I  don’t  complain  near  as  much  as  the  others  do,  and 
I  shall  be  more  careful  than  ever  now;  for  I’ve  had 
warning  from  Susie’s  downfall,”  said  Amy  morally. 

“  We  needed  that  lesson,  and  we  won’t  forget  it.  If 
we  do,  you  just  say  to  us,  as  old  Chloe  did  in  ‘Uncle 
Tom,’  ‘  Tink  ob  yer  marcies,  chillen  !  tink  ob  yer  mar- 
cies  !  ’  ”  added  Jo,  who  could  not,  for  the  life  of  her, 
help  getting  a  morsel  of  fun  out  of  the  little  sermon, 
though  she  took  it  to  heart  as  much  as  any  of  them. 


Being  Neighborly 


57 


CHAPTER  V 


BEING  NEIGHBORLY 


HAT  in  the  world  are  you  going  to  do  now, 
Jo?”  asked  Meg,  one  snowy  afternoon,  as 
her  sister  came  tramping  through  the  hall, 
in  rubber  boots,  old  sack  and  hood,  with  a  broom  in  one 
hand  and  a  shovel  in  the  other. 

“  Going  out  for  exercise,”  answered  Jo,  with  a  mis¬ 
chievous  twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

“  I  should  think  two  long  walks  this  morning  would 
have  been  enough!  It’s  cold  and  dull  out;  and  I 
advise  you  to  stay,  warm  and  dry,  by  the  fire,  as  I  do,” 
said  Meg,  with  a  shiver. 

“  Never  take  advice  !  Can’t  keep  still  all  day,  and, 
not  being  a  pussy-cat,  I  don’t  like  to  doze  by  the  fire. 
I  like  adventures,  and  I ’m  going  to  find  some.” 

Meg  went  back  to  toast  her  feet  and  read  “  Ivanhoe”; 
and  Jo  began  to  dig  paths  with  great  energy.  The 
snow  was  light,  and  with  her  broom  she  soon  swept 
a  path  all  round  the  garden,  for  Beth  to  walk  in  when 
the  sun  came  out;  and  the  invalid  dolls  needed  air. 
Now,  the  garden  separated  the  Marches’  house  from 
that  of  Mr.  Laurence.  Both  stood  in  a  suburb  of  the 
city,  which  was  still  country-like,  with  groves  and  lawns, 
large  gardens,  and  quiet  streets.  A  low  hedge  parted 
the  two  estates.  On  one  side  was  an  old,  brown  house, 
looking  rather  bare  and  shabby,  robbed  of  the  vines 
that  in  summer  covered  its  walls,  and  the  flowers  which 
then  surrounded  it.  On  the  other  side  was  a  stately 
stone  mansion,  plainly  betokening  every  sort  of  comfort 
and  luxury,  from  the  big  coach-house  and  well-kept 


Little  Women 


58 

grounds  to  the  conservatory  and  the  glimpses  of  lovely 
things  one  caught  between  the  rich  curtains.  Yet  it 
seemed  a  lonely,  lifeless  sort  of  house ;  for  no  children 
frolicked  on  the  lawn,  no  motherly  face  ever  smiled  at 
the  windows,  and  few  people  went  in  and  out,  except 
the  old  gentleman  and  his  grandson. 

To  Jo’s  lively  fancy,  this  fine  house  seemed  a  kind  of 
enchanted  palace,  full  of  splendors  and  delights,  which 
no  one  enjoyed.  She  had  long  wanted  to  behold  these 
hidden  glories,  and  to  know  the  “  Laurence  boy,”  who 
looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  be  known,  if  he  only  knew 
how  to  begin.  Since  the  party,  she  had  been  more 
eager  than  ever,  and  had  planned  many  ways  of  making 
friends  with  him ;  but  he  had  not  been  seen  lately,  and 
Jo  began  to  think  he  had  gone  away,  when  she  one  day 
spied  a  brown  face  at  an  upper  window,  looking  wist¬ 
fully  down  into  their  garden,  where  Beth  and  Amy  were 
snowballing  one  another. 

“That  boy  is  suffering  for  society  and  fun,”  she  said 
to  herself.  “  His  grandpa  does  not  know  what’s  good 
for  him,  and  keeps  him  shut  up  all  alone.  He  needs  a 
party  of  jolly  boys  to  play  with,  or  somebody  young 
and  lively.  I ’ve  a  great  mind  to  go  over  and  tell  the 
old  gentleman  so  !  ” 

The  idea  amused  Jo,  who  liked  to  do  daring  things, 
and  was  always  scandalizing  Meg  by  her  queer  perform¬ 
ances.  The  plan  of  “  going  over  ”  was  not  forgotten ; 
and  when  the  snowy  afternoon  came,  Jo  resolved  to  try 
what  could  be  done.  She  saw  Mr.  Laurence  drive  off, 
and  then  sallied  out  to  dig  her  way  down  to  the  hedge, 
where  she  paused,  and  took  a  survey.  All  quiet,  —  cur¬ 
tains  down  at  the  lower  windows ;  servants  out  of  sight, 
and  nothing  human  visible  but  a  curly  black  head  lean¬ 
ing  on  a  thin  hand  at  the  upper  window. 


Being  Neighborly  59 

“There  he  is,”  thought  Jo,  “  poor  boy  !  all  alone  and 
sick  this  dismal  day.  It ’s  a  shame  !  I  ’ll  toss  up  a  snow¬ 
ball,  and  make  him  look  out,  and  then  say  a  kind  word 
to  him.” 

Up  went  a  handful  of  soft  snow,  and  the  head  turned 
at  once,  showing  a  face  which  lost  its  listless  look  in  a 
minute,  as  the  big  eyes  brightened  and  the  mouth  began 
to  smile.  Jo  nodded  and  laughed,  and  flourished  her 
broom  as  she  called  out,  — 

“  How  do  you  do?  Are  you  sick?  ” 

Laurie  opened  the  window,  and  croaked  out  as  hoarsely 
as  a  raven,  — 

“Better,  thank  you.  I’ve  had  a  bad  cold,  and  been 
‘  shut  up  a  week.” 

“  I ’m  sorry.  What  do  you  amuse  yourself  with?” 

“  Nothing;  it’s  as  dull  as  tombs  up  here.” 

“  Don’t  you  read  ?  ” 

“Not  much;  they  won’t  let  me.” 

“  Can’t  somebody  read  to  you?  ” 

“  Grandpa  does,  sometimes ;  but  my  books  don’t  in¬ 
terest  him,  and  I  hate  to  ask  Brooke  all  the  time. 

“  Have  some  one  come  and  see  you,  then.” 

“There  isn’t  any  one  I’d  like  to  see.  Boys  make 
such  a  row,  and  my  head  is  weak. 

“  Is  n’t  there  some  nice  girl  who ’d  read  and  amuse 
you?  Girls  are  quiet,  and  like  to  play  nurse. 

“  Don’t  know  any.” 

“You  know  us,”  began  Jo,  then  laughed,  and  stopped. 

“  So  I  do  !  Will  you  come,  please?  ”  cried  Laurie. 

“  I ’m  not  quiet  and  nice ;  but  I  ’ll  come,  if  mother 
will  let  me.  I  ’ll  go  ask  her.  Shut  that  window,  like  a 

good  boy,  and  wait  till  I  come.” 

With  that,  Jo  shouldered  her  broom  and  marched  into 
the  house,  wondering  what  they  would  all  say  to  her 


6o 


Little  Women 


Laurie  was  in  a  flutter  of  excitement  at  the  idea  of 
having  company,  and  flew  about  to  get  ready ;  for,  as 
Mrs.  March  said,  he  was  “  a  little  gentleman,”  and  did 
honor  to  the  coming  guest  by  brushing  his  curly  pate, 
putting  on  a  fresh  collar,  and  trying  to  tidy  up  the  room, 
which,  in  spite  of  half  a  dozen  servants,  was  anything 
but  neat.  Presently  there  came  a  loud  ring,  then  a 
decided  voice,  asking  for  “  Mr.  Laurie,”  and  a  surprised- 
looking  servant  came  running  up  to  announce  a  young 
lady. 

“All  right,  show  her  up,  it’s  Miss  Jo,”  said  Laurie, 
going  to  the  door  of  his  little  parlor  to  meet  Jo,  who 
appeared,  looking  rosy  and  kind  and  quite  at  her  ease, 
with  a  covered  dish  in  one  hand  and  Beth’s  three  kittens 
in  the  other. 

“  Here  I  am,  bag  and  baggage,”  she  said  briskly. 
“  Mother  sent  her  love,  and  was  glad  if  I  could  do  any¬ 
thing  for  you.  Meg  wanted  me  to  bring  some  of  her 
blanc-mange  ;  she  makes  it  very  nicely,  and  Beth  thought 
her  cats  would  be  comforting.  I  knew  you ’d  laugh  at 
them,  but  I  could  n’t  refuse,  she  was  so  anxious  to  do 
something.  ” 

It  so  happened  that  Beth’s  funny  loan  was  just  the 
thing;  for,  in  laughing  over  the  kits,  Laurie  forgot  his 
bashfulness,  and  grew  sociable  at  once. 

“  That  looks  too  pretty  to  eat,”  he  said,  smiling  with 
pleasure,  as  Jo  uncovered  the  dish,  and  showed  the 
blanc-mange,  surrounded  by  a  garland  of  green  leaves, 
and  the  scarlet  flowers  of  Amy’s  pet  geranium. 

“  It  is  n’t  anything,  only  they  all  felt  kindly,  and 
wanted  to  show  it.  Tell  the  girl  to  put  it  away  for  your 
tea:  it's  so  simple,  you  can  eat  it;  and,  being  soft,  it 
will  slip  down  without  hurting  your  sore  throat.  What 
a  cosey  room  this  is !  ” 


Being  Neighborly  61 

“  It  might  be  if  it  was  kept  nice ;  but  the  maids  are 
lazy,  and  I  don’t  know  how  to  make  them  mind.  It 
worries  me,  though.” 

“  I  ’ll  right  it  up  in  two  minutes ;  for  it  only  needs  to 
have  the  hearth  brushed,  so, — and  the  things  made 
straight  on  the  mantel-piece,  so,  —  and  the  books  put 
here,  and  the  bottles  there,  and  your  sofa  turned  from 
the  light,  and  the  pillows  plumped  up  a  bit.  Now,  then, 
you  ’re  fixed.” 

And  so  he  was ;  for,  as  she  laughed  and  talked, 
Jo  had  whisked  things  into  place,  and  given  quite 
a  different  air  to  the  room.  Laurie  watched  her  in 
respectful  silence ;  and  when  she  beckoned  him  to  his 
sofa,  he  sat  down  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  saying 
gratefully,  — 

“  How  kind  you  are  !  Yes,  that ’s  what  it  wanted. 
Now  please  take  the  big  chair,  and  let  me  do  something 
to  amuse  my  company.” 

“No;  I  came  to  amuse  you.  Shall  I  read  aloud?” 
and  Jo  looked  affectionately  toward  some  inviting  books 
near  by. 

“  Thank  you  ;  I ’ve  read  all  those,  and  if  you  don’t 
mind,  I ’d  rather  talk,”  answered  Laurie. 

“Not  a  bit;  I’ll  talk  all  day  if  you’ll  only  set  me 
going.  Beth  says  I  never  know  when  to  stop.” 

“  Is  Beth  the  rosy  one,  who  stays  at  home  a  good  deal, 
and  sometimes  goes  out  with  a  little  basket?  ”  asked 
Laurie,  with  interest. 

“  Yes,  that ’s  Beth  ;  she ’s  my  girl,  and  a  regular  good 
one  she  is,  too.” 

“  The  pretty  one  is  Meg,  and  the  curly-haired  one  is 
Amy,  I  believe  ?  ” 

“  How  did  you  find  that  out?  ” 

Laurie  colored  up,  but  answered  frankly,  “  Why,  you 


62 


Little  Women 


see,  I  often  hear  you  calling  to  one  another,  and  when 
I ’m  alone  up  here,  I  can’t  help  looking  over  at  your 
house,  you  always  seem  to  be  having  such  good  times. 
I  beg  your  pardon  for  being  so  rude,  but  sometimes  you 
forget  to  put  down  the  curtain  at  the  window  where  the 
flowers  are ;  and  when  the  lamps  are  lighted,  it ’s  like 
looking  at  a  picture  to  see  the  fire,  and  you  all  round  the 
table  with  your  mother  ;  her  face  is  right  opposite,  and  it 
looks  so  sweet  behind  the  flowers,  I  can’t  help  watching 
it.  I  haven’t  got  any  mother,  you  know;  ”  and  Laurie 
poked  the  fire  to  hide  a  little  twitching  of  the  lips  that 
he  could  not  control. 

The  solitary,  hungry  look  in  his  eyes  went  straight  to 
Jo’s  warm  heart.  She  had  been  so  simply  taught  that 
there  was  no  nonsense  in  her  head,  and  at  fifteen  she  was 
as  innocent  and  frank  as  any  child.  Laurie  was  sick  and 
lonely ;  and,  feeling  how  rich  she  was  in  home-love  and 
happiness,  she  gladly  tried  to  share  it  with  him.  Her 
face  was  very  friendly  and  her  sharp  voice  unusually 
gentle  as  she  said,  — 

“We  ’ll  never  draw  that  curtain  any  more,  and  I  give 
you  leave  to  look  as  much  as  you  like.  I  just  wish, 
though,  instead  of  peeping,  you ’d  come  over  and  see  us. 
Mother  is  so  splendid,  she ’d  do  you  heaps  of  good,  and 
Beth  would  sing  to  you  if  I  begged  her  to,  and  Amy 
would  dance ;  Meg  and  I  would  make  you  laugh  over 
our  funny  stage  properties,  and  we’d  have  jolly  times. 
Wouldn’t  your  grandpa  let  you?” 

“I  think  he  would,  if  your  mother  asked  him.  He’s 
very  kind,  though  he  does  not  look  so;  and  he.  lets  me 
do  what  I  like,  pretty  much,  only  he ’s  afraid  I  might  be 
a  bother  to  strangers,”  began  Laurie,  brightening  more 
and  more. 

“  We  are  not  strangers,  we  are  neighbors,  and  you 


Being  Neighborly 


need  n’t  think  you  ’d  be  a  bother.  We  want  to  know 
you,  and  I ’ve  been  trying  to  do  it  this  ever  so  long.  We 
have  n’t  been  here  a  great  while,  you  know,  but  we  have 
got  acquainted  with  all  our  neighbors  but  you.” 

“  You  see  grandpa  lives  among  his  books,  and  does  n’t 
mind  much  what  happens  outside.  Mr.  Brooke,  my 
tutor,  does  n’t  stay  here,  you  know,  and  I  have  no  one 
to  go  about  with  me,  so  I  just  stop  at  home  and  get  on 
as  I  can.” 

“That’s  bad.  You  ought  to  make  an  effort,  and  go 
visiting  everywhere  you  are  asked ;  then  you  ’ll  have 
plenty  of  friends,  and  pleasant  places  to  go  to.  Never 
mind  being  bashful ;  it  won’t  last  long  if  you  keep 
going.” 

Laurie  turned  red  again,  but  was  n’t  offended  at  being 
accused  of  bashfulness  ;  for  there  was  so  much  good-will 
in  Jo,  it  was  impossible  not  to  take  her  blunt  speeches 
as  kindly  as  they  were  meant. 

“  Do  you  like  your  school?  ”  asked  the  boy,  changing 
the  subject,  after  a  little  pause,  during  which  he  stared 
at  the  fire,  and  Jo  looked  about  her,  well  pleased. 

“  Don’t  go  to  school ;  I  ’m  a  business  man  -  girl  I 
mean.  I  go  to  wait  on  my  great-aunt,  and  a  dear,  cross 
old  soul  she  is,  too,”  answered  Jo. 

Laurie  opened  his  mouth  to  ask  another  question  ;  but 
remembering  just  in  time  that  it  was  n’t  manners  to  make 
too  many  inquiries  into  people’s  affairs,  he  shut  it  again, 
and  looked  uncomfortable.  Jo  liked  his  good  breeding, 
and  didn’t  mind  having  a  laugh  at  Aunt  March,  so  she 
gave  him  a  lively  description  of  the  fidgety  old  lady,  her 
fat  poodle,  the  parrot  that  talked  Spanish,  and  the  library 
where  she  revelled.  Laurie  enjoyed  that  immensely  ;  and 
when  she  told  about  the  prim  old  gentleman  who  came 
once  to  woo  Aunt  March,  and,  in  the  middle  of  a  fine 


Little  Women 


64 

speech,  how  Poll  had  tweaked  his  wig  off  to  his  great 
dismay,  the  boy  lay  back  and  laughed  till  the  tears  ran 
down  his  cheeks,  and  a  maid  popped  her  head  in  to  see 
what  was  the  matter. 

“Oh!  that  does  me  no  end  of  good.  Tell  on,  please,” 
he  said,  taking  his  face  out  of  the  sofa-cushion,  red  and 
shining  with  merriment. 

Much  elated  with  her  success,  Jo  did  “tell  on,”  all 
about  their  plays  and  plans,  their  hopes  and  fears  tor 
father,  and  the  most  interesting  events  of  the  little  world 
in  which  the  sisters  lived.  Then  they  got  to  talking 
about  books;  and  to  Jo’s  delight,  she  found  that  Laurie 
loved  them  as  well  as  she  did,  and  had  read  even  more 
than  herself. 

“  If  you  like  them  so  much,  come  down  and  see  ours. 
Grandpa  is  out,  so  you  need  n’t  be  afraid,”  said  Laurie, 
getting  up. 

“  I’m  not  afraid  of  anything,”  returned  Jo,  with  a  toss 
of  the  head. 

“  I  don’t  believe  you  are  !  ”  exclaimed  the  boy,  look¬ 
ing  at  her  with  much  admiration,  though  he  privately 
thought  she  would  have  good  reason  to  be  a  trifle  afraid 
of  the  old  gentleman,  if  she  met  him  in  some  of  his 
moods. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  whole  house  being  summer- 
like,  Laurie  led  the  way  from  room  to  room,  letting  Jo 
stop  to  examine  whatever  struck  her  fancy ;  and  so  at  last 
they  came  to  the  library,  where  she  clapped  her  hands, 
and  pranced,  as  she  always  did  when  especially  delighted. 
It  was  lined  with  books,  and  there  were  pictures  and 
statues,  and  distracting  little  cabinets  full  of  coins  and 
curiosities,  and  sleepy-hollow  chairs,  and  queer  tables, 
and  bronzes  ;  and,  best  of  all,  a  great  open  fireplace,  with 
quaint  tiles  ail  round  it. 


Being  Neighborly 


“  What  richness  !  ”  sighed  Jo,  sinking  into  the  depth 
of  a  velvet  chair,  and  gazing  about  her  with  an  air  of 
intense  satisfaction.  “  Theodore  Laurence,  you  ought 
to  be  the  happiest  boy  in  the  world,”  she  added  im- 
pressively. 

A  fellow  can  t  live  on  books,”  said  Laurie,  shaking 
his  head,  as  he  perched  on  a  table  opposite. 

Before  he  could  say  more,  a  bell  rung,  and  Jo  flew 
up,  exclaiming  with  alarm,  “Mercy  me!  it’s  your 
grandpa  !  ” 

“  Well,  what  if  it  is?  You  are  not  afraid  of  anything, 
you  know,”  returned  the  boy,  looking  wicked. 

“  I  think  I  am  a  little  bit  afraid  of  him,  but  I  don’t 
know  why  I  should  be.  Marmee  said  I  might  come, 
and  I  don’t  think  you  ’re  any  the  worse  for  it,”  said  Jo, 
composing  herself,  though  she  kept  her  eyes  on  the  door. 

“I’m  a  great  deal  better  for  it,  and  ever  so  much 
obliged.  I ’m  only  afraid  you  are  very  tired  talking  to 
me ;  it  was  so  pleasant,  I  could  n’t  bear  to  stop,”  said 
Laurie  gratefully. 

“  The  doctor  to  see  you,  sir,”  and  the  maid  beckoned 
as  she  spoke. 

“Would  you  mind  if  I  left  you  for  a  minute?  I  sup¬ 
pose  I  must  see  him,”  said  Laurie. 

“  Don’t  mind  me.  I ’m  as  happy  as  a  cricket  here,” 
answered  Jo. 

Laurie  went  away,  and  his  guest  amused  herself  in  her 
own  way.  She  was  standing  before  a  fine  portrait  of 
the  old  gentleman,  when  the  door  opened  again,  and, 
without  turning,  she  said  decidedly,  “  I  ’m  sure  now  that 
I  should  n’t  be  afraid  of  him,  for  he ’s  got  kind  eyes, 
though  his  mouth  is  grim,  and  he  looks  as  if  he  had  a 
tremendous  will  of  his  own.  He  is  n’t  as  handsome  as 
my  grandfather,  but  I  like  him.” 

5 


66 


Little  Women 


“  Thank  you,  ma’am,”  said  a  gruff  voice  behind  her; 
and  there,  to  her  great  dismay,  stood  old  Mr.  Laurence. 

Poor  Jo  blushed  till  she  could  n’t  blush  any  redder, 
and  her  heart  began  to  beat  uncomfortably  fast  as  she 
thought  what  she  had  said.  For  a  minute  a  wild  desire 
to  run  away  possessed  her ;  but  that  was  cowardly,  and 
the  girls  would  laugh  at  her :  so  she  resolved  to  stay, 
and  get  out  of  the  scrape  as  she  could.  A  second  look 
showed  her  that  the  living  eyes,  under  the  bushy  gray 
eyebrows,  were  kinder  even  than  the  painted  ones ;  and 
there  was  a  sly  twinkle  in  them,  which  lessened  her  fear 
a  good  deal.  The  gruff  voice  was  gruffer  than  ever,  as 
the  old  gentleman  said  abruptly,  after  that  dreadful 
pause,  “  So  you  ’re  not  afraid  of  me,  hey?  ” 

“  Not  much,  sir.” 

“  And  you  don’t  think  me  as  handsome  as  your  grand¬ 
father?  ” 

“  Not  quite,  sir.” 

“  And  I ’ve  got  a  tremendous  will,  have  I  ?  ” 

“  I  only  said  I  thought  so.” 

“  But  you  like  me,  in  spite  of  it?  ” 

“Yes,  I  do,  sir.” 

That  answer  pleased  the  old  gentleman ;  he  gave  a 
short  laugh,  shook  hands  with  her,  and,  putting  his  finger 
under  her  chin,  turned  up  her  face,  examined  it  gravely, 
and  let  it  go,  saying,  with  a  nod,  “You’ve  got  your 
grandfather’s  spirit,  if  you  have  n’t  his  face.  He  was 
a  fine  man,  my  dear;  but,  what  is  better,  he  was  a 
brave  and  an  honest  one,  and  I  was  proud  to  be  his 
friend.” 

“Thank  you,  sir;”  and  Jo  was  quite  comfortable 
after  that,  for  it  suited  her  exactly. 

“  What  have  you  been  doing  to  this  boy  of  mine, 
hey?”  was  the  next  question,  sharply  put. 


Being  Neighborly 


“  Only  trying  to  be  neighborly,  sir;  ”  and  Jo  told  how 
her  visit  came  about. 

“  You  think  he  needs  cheering  up  a  bit,  do  you  ?  ” 

“Yes,  sir;  he  seems  a  little  lonely,  and  young  folks 
would  do  him  good  perhaps.  We  are  only  girls,  but  we 
should  be  glad  to  help  if  wTe  could,  for  we  don’t  forget 
the  splendid  Christmas  present  you  sent  us,”  said  Jo 
eagerly. 

“  Tut,  tut,  tut!  that  was  the  boy’s  affair.  How  is  the 
poor  woman?  ” 

“Doing  nicely,  sir;  ”  and  off  went  Jo,  talking  very 
fast,  as  she  told  all  about  the  Hummels,  in  whom  her 
mother  had  interested  richer  friends  than  they  were. 

“Just  her  father’s  way  of  doing  good.  I  shall  come 
and  see  your  mother  some  fine  day.  Tell  her  so. 
There ’s  the  tea-bell ;  we  have  it  early,  on  the  boy’s 
account.  Come  down,  and  go  on  being  neighborly.” 

“  If  you ’d  like  to  have  me,  sir.” 

“  Should  n’t  ask  you,  if  I  did  n’t;  ”  and  Mr.  Laurence 
offered  her  his  arm  with  old-fashioned  courtesy. 

“What  would  Meg  say  to  this?”  thought  Jo,  as  she 
was  marched  away,  while  her  eyes  danced  with  fun  as 
she  imagined  herself  telling  the  story  at  home. 

“  Hey !  Why,  what  the  dickens  has  come  to  the 
fellow?”  said  the  old  gentleman,  as  Laurie  came  run¬ 
ning  downstairs,  and  brought  up  with  a  start  of  surprise 
at  the  astonishing  sight  of  Jo  arm-in-arm  with  his  re¬ 
doubtable  grandfather. 

“I  didn’t  know  you’d  come,  sir,”  he  began,  as  Jo 
gave  him  a  triumphant  little  glance. 

“  That ’s  evident,  by  the  way  you  racket  downstairs. 
Come  to  your  tea,  sir,  and  behave  like  a  gentleman ;  ” 
and  having  pulled  the  boy’s  hair  by  way  of  a  caress,  Mr. 
Laurence  walked  on,  while  Laurie  went  through  a  series 


68 


Little  Women 


of  comic  evolutions  behind  their  backs,  which  nearly 
produced  an  explosion  of  laughter  from  Jo. 

The  old  gentleman  did  not  say  much  as  he  drank  his 
four  cups  of  tea,  but  he  watched  the  young  people,  who 
soon  chatted  away  like  old  friends,  and  the  change  in 
his  grandson  did  not  escape  him.  There  was  color, 
light,  and  life  in  the  boy’s  face  now,  vivacity  in  his 
manner,  and  genuine  merriment  in  his  laugh. 

“  She’s  right;  the  lad  is  lonely.  I  ’ll  see  what  these 
little  girls  can  do  for  him,”  thought  Mr.  Laurence,  as  he 
looked  and  listened.  He  liked  Jo,  for  her  odd,  blunt 
ways  suited  him;  and  she  seemed  to  understand  the 
boy  almost  as  well  as  if  she  had  been  one  herself. 

If  the  Laurences  had  been  what  Jo  called  “  prim  and 
poky,”  she  would  not  have  got  on  at  all,  for  such  people 
always  made  her  shy  and  awkward  ;  but  finding  them 
free  and  easy,  she  was  so  herself,  and  made  a  good 
impression.  When  they  rose  she  proposed  to  go,  but 
Laurie  said  he  had  something  more  to  show  her,  and 
took  her  away  to  the  conservatory,  which  had  been 
lighted  for  her  benefit.  It  seemed  quite  fairylike  to  Jo, 
as  she  went  up  and  down  the  walks,  enjoying  the  bloom¬ 
ing  walls  on  either  side,  the  soft  light,  the  damp  sweet 
air,  and  the  wonderful  vines  and  trees  that  hung  above 
her,  —  while  her  new  friend  cut  the  finest  flowers  till  his 
hands  were  full;  then  he  tied  them  up,  saying,  with  the 
happy  look  Jo  liked  to  see,  “  Please  give  these  to  your 
mother,  and  tell  her  I  like  the  medicine  she  sent  me 
very  much.” 

They  found  Mr.  Laurence  standing  before  the  fire  in 
the  great  drawing-room,  but  Jo’s  attention  was  entirely 
absorbed  by  a  grand  piano,  which  stood  open. 

“  Do  you  play?”  she  asked,  turning  to  Laurie  with  a 
respectful  expression. 


69 


Being  Neighborly 

“  Sometimes,”  he  answered  modestly. 

“  Please  do  now.  I  want  to  hear  it,  so  I  can  tell  Beth.” 

“  Won’t  you  first?  ” 

“Don’t  know  how;  too  stupid  to  learn,  but  I  love 
music  dearly.” 

So  Laurie  played,  and  Jo  listened,  with  her  nose 
luxuriously  buried  in  heliotrope  and  tea-roses.  Her  re¬ 
spect  and  regard  for  the  “  Laurence  boy  ”  increased  very 
much,  for  he  played  remarkably  well,  and  did  n’t  put  on 
any  airs.  She  wished  Beth  could  hear  him,  but  she  did 
not  say  so ;  only  praised  him  till  he  was  quite  abashed, 
and  his  grandfather  came  to  the  rescue.  “  That  will  do, 
that  will  do,  young  lady.  Too  many  sugar-plums  are 
..Ot  good  for  him.  His  music  is  n’t  bad,  but  I  hope 
he  will  do  as  well  in  more  important  things.  Going? 
Well,  I ’m  much  obliged  to  you,  and  I  hope  you  ’ll 
come  again.  My  respects  to  your  mother.  Good-night, 
Doctor  Jo.” 

He  shook  hands  kindly,  but  looked  as  if  something 
did  not  please  him.  When  they  got  into  the  hall,  Jo 
asked  Laurie  if  she  had  said  anything  amiss.  He  shook 
his  head. 

“  No,  it  was  rne  ;  he  does  n’t  like  to  hear  me  play.” 

“  Why  not?  ” 

“  I  ’ll  tell  you  some  day.  John  is  going  home  with 
you,  as  I  can’t.” 

“No  need  of  that;  I  am  not  a  young  lady,  and  it’s 
only  a  step.  Take  care  of  yourself,  won’t  you?  ” 

“Yes;  but  you  will  come  again,  I  hope?  ” 

“  If  you  promise  to  come  and  see  us  after  you  are  well.'1 

“  I  will.” 

“  Good-night,  Laurie  !  ” 

“  Good-night,  Jo,  good-night !  ” 

When  all  the  afternoon’s  adventures  had  been  told,  the 


Little  Women 


70 

family  felt  inclined  to  go  visiting  in  a  body,  for  each 
found  something  very  attractive  in  the  big  house  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge.  Mrs.  March  wanted  to  talk  of 
her  father  with  the  old  man  who  had  not  forgotten  him ; 
Meg  longed  to  walk  in  the  conservatory ;  Beth  sighed 
for  the  grand  piano ;  and  Amy  was  eager  to  see  the  fine 
pictures  and  statues. 

“  Mother,  why  did  n’t  Mr.  Laurence  like  to  have  Laurie 
play?”  asked  Jo,  who  was  of  an  inquiring  disposition. 

“  I  am  not  sure,  but  I  think  it  was  because  his  son, 
Laurie’s  father,  married  an  Italian  lady,  a  musician, 
which  displeased  the  old  man,  who  is  very  proud.  The 
lady  was  good  and  lovely  and  accomplished,  but  he  did 
not  like  her,  and  never  saw  his  son  after  he  married. 
They  both  died  when  Laurie  was  a  little  child,  and  then 
his  grandfather  took  him  home.  I  fancy  the  boy,  who 
was  born  in  Italy,  is  not  very  strong,  and  the  old  man  is 
afraid  of  losing  him,  which  makes  him  so  careful.  Laurie 
comes  naturally  by  his  love  of  music,  for  he  is  like  his 
mother,  and  I  dare  say  his  grandfather  fears  that  he  may 
want  to  be  a  musician ;  at  any  rate,  his  skill  reminds 
him  of  the  woman  he  did  not  like,  and  so  he  ‘  glowered,’ 
as  Jo  said.” 

“  Dear  me,  how  romantic !  ”  exclaimed  Meg. 

“  How  silly  !  ”  said  Jo.  “Let  him  be  a  musician,  if 
he  wants  to,  and  not  plague  his  life  out  sending  him  to 
college,  when  he  hates  to  go.” 

“  That ’s  why  he  has  such  handsome  black  eyes  and 
pretty  manners,  I  suppose.  Italians  are  always  nice,” 
said  Meg,  who  was  a  little  sentimental. 

“  What  do  you  know  about  his  eyes  and  his  manners? 
You  never  spoke  to  him,  hardly,”  cried  Jo,  who  was  not 
sentimental. 

“  I  saw  him  at  the  party,  and  what  you  tell  shows  that 


Being  Neighborly  71 

he  knows  how  to  behave.  That  was  a  nice  little  speech 
about  the  medicine  mother  sent  him.” 

“  He  meant  the  blanc-mange,  I  suppose.” 

“  How  stupid  you  are,  child  !  He  meant  you,  of 
course.” 

“  Did  he?  ”  and  Jo  opened  her  eyes  as  if  it  had  never 
occurred  to  her  before. 

“  I  never  saw  such  a  girl !  You  don’t  know  a  com¬ 
pliment  when  you  get  it,”  said  Meg,  with  the  air  of  a 
young  lady  who  knew  all  about  the  matter. 

“  I  think  they  are  great  nonsense,  and  I  ’ll  thank  you 
not  to  be  silly,  and  spoil  my  fun.  Laurie’s  a  nice  boy, 
and  I  like  him,  and  I  won’t  have  any  sentimental  stuff 
about  compliments  and  such  rubbish.  We  ’ll  all  be  good 
to  him,  because  he  has  n’t  got  any  mother,  and  he  may 
come  over  and  see  us,  may  n’t  he,  Marmee?  ” 

“  Yes,  Jo,  your  little  friend  is  very  welcome,  and  I 
hope  Meg  will  remember  that  children  should  be  chil¬ 
dren  as  long  as  they  can.” 

“  I  don’t  call  myself  a  child,  and  I ’m  not  in  my  teena 
yet,”  observed  Amy.  “  What  do  you  say,  Beth?” 

“  I  was  thinking  about  our  ‘  Pilgrim’s  Progress,’  ”  an¬ 
swered  Beth,  who  had  not  heard  a  word.  “  Plow  we  got 
out  of  the  Slough  and  through  the  Wicket  Gate  by  re¬ 
solving  to  be  good,  and  up  the  steep  hill  by  trying;  and 
that  maybe  the  house  over  there,  full  of  splendid  things, 
is  going  to  be  our  Palace  Beautiful.” 

“  We  have  got  to  get  by  the  lions,  first,”  said  Jo,  as  if 
she  rather  liked  the  prospect. 


7  2 


Little  Women 


CHAPTER  VI 

BETH  FINDS  THE  PALACE  BEAUTIFUL 

r~  |  ^HE  big  house  did  prove  a  Palace  Beautiful, 
though  it  took  some  time  for  all  to  get  in, 
Jl_  and  Beth  found  it  very  hard  to  pass  the  lions. 
Old  Mr.  Laurence  was  the  biggest  one;  but  after  he 
had  called,  said  something  funny  or  kind  to  each  one 
of  the  girls,  and  talked  over  old  times  with  their 
mother,  nobody  felt  much  afraid  of  him,  except  timid 
Beth.  The  other  lion  was  the  fact  that  they  were  poor 
and  Laurie  rich ;  for  this  made  them  shy  of  accepting 
favors  which  they  could  not  return.  But,  after  a  while, 
they  found  that  he  considered  them  the  benefactors, 
and  could  not  do  enough  to'  show  how  grateful  he  was 
for  Mrs.  March’s  motherly  welcome,  their  cheerful  so¬ 
ciety,  and  the  comfort  he  took  in  that  humble  home  of 
theirs.  So  they  soon  forgot  their  pride,  and  inter¬ 
changed  kindnesses  without  stopping  to  think  which 
was  the  greater. 

All  sorts  of  pleasant  things  happened  about  that  time  ; 
for  the  new  friendship  flourished  like  grass  in  spring. 
Every  one  liked  Laurie,  and  he  privately  informed  his 
tutor  that  “  the  Marches  were  regularly  splendid  girls.” 
With  the  delightful  enthusiasm  of  youth,  they  took  the 
solitary  boy  into  their  midst,  and  made  much  of  him, 
and  he  found  something  very  charming  in  the  innocent 
companionship  of  these  simple-hearted  girls.  Never 
having  known  mother  or  sisters,  he  was  quick  to  feel 
the  influences  they  brought  about  him ;  and  their  busy, 
lively  ways  made  him  ashamed  of  the  indolent  life  he 
led.  He  was  tired  of  books,  and  found  people  so  inter- 


Beth  Finds  the  Palace  Beautiful  73 

esting  now  that  Mr.  Brooke  was  obliged  to  make  very 
unsatisfactory  reports;  for  Laurie  was  always  playing 
truant,  and  running  over  to  the  Marches’. 

“Never  mind;  let  him  take  a  holiday,  and  make  it 
up  afterwards,”  said  the  old  gentleman.  “  The  good 
lady  next  door  says  he  is  studying  too  hard,  and  needs 
young  society,  amusement,  and  exercise.  I  suspect  she 
is  right,  and  that  I ’ve  been  coddling  the  fellow  as  if  I ’d 
been  his  grandmother.  Let  him  do  what  he  likes,  as 
long  as  he  is  happy.  He  can’t  get  into  mischief  in  that 
little  nunnery  over  there ;  and  Mrs.  March  is  doing 
more  for  him  than  we  can.” 

What  good  times  they  had,  to  be  sure  !  Such  plays 
and  tableaux,  such  sleigh-rides  and  skating  frolics,  such 
pleasant  evenings  in  the  old  parlor,  and  now  and  then 
such  gay  little  parties  at  the  great  house.  Meg  could 
walk  in  the  conservatory  whenever  she  liked,  and  revel 
in  bouquets;  Jo  browsed  over  the  new  library  vora¬ 
ciously,  and  convulsed  the  old  gentleman  with  her 
criticisms ;  Amy  copied  pictures,  and  enjoyed  beauty 
to  her  heart’s  content;  and  Laurie  played  “  lord  of  the 
manor  ”  in  the  most  delightful  style. 

But  Beth,  though  yearning  for  the  grand  piano,  could 
not  pluck  up  courage  to  go  to  the  “  Mansion  of  Bliss,” 
as  Meg  called  it.  She  went  once  with  Jo;  but  the  old 
gentleman,  not  being  aware  of  her  infirmity,  stared  at 
her  so  hard  from  under  his  heavy  eyebrows,  and  said 
“  Hey  !  ”  so  loud,  that  he  frightened  her  so  much  her 
“  feet  chattered  on  the  floor,”  she  told  her  mother ;  and 
she  ran  away,  declaring  she  would  never  go  there  any 
more,  not  even  for  the  dear  piano.  No  persuasions  or 
enticements  could  overcome  her  fear,  till,  the  fact  com¬ 
ing  to  Mr.  Laurence’s  ear  in  some  mysterious  way,  he 
set  about  mending  matters.  During  one  of  the  brief 


Little  Women 


74 

calls  he  made,  he  artfully  led  the  conversation  to  music, 
and  talked  away  about  great  singers  whom  he  had  seen, 
fine  organs  he  had  heard,  and  told  such  charming  anec¬ 
dotes  that  Beth  found  it  impossible  to  stay  in  her  distant 
corner,  but  crept  nearer  and  nearer,  as  if  fascinated. 
At  the  back  of  his  chair  she  stopped  and  stood  listen¬ 
ing,  with  her  great  eyes  wide  open,  and  her  cheeks  red 
with  the  excitement  of  this  unusual  performance.  Tak¬ 
ing  no  more  notice  of  her  than  if  she  had  bee,x  a  fly, 
Mr.  Laurence  talked  on  about  Laurie’s  lessons  and 
teachers;  and  presently,  as  if  the  idea  had  just  occurred 
to  him,  he  said  to  Mrs.  March, — 

“  The  boy  neglects  his  music  now,  and  I  ’m  glad  of 
it,  for  he  was  getting  too  fond  of  it.  But  the  piano 
suffers  for  want  of  use.  Would  n’t  some  of  your  girls 
like  to  run  over,  and  practice  on  it  now  and  then,  just 
to  keep  it  in  tune,  you  know,  ma’am?  ” 

Beth  took  a  step  forward,  and  pressed  her  hands 
tightly  together  to  keep  from  clapping  them,  for  this 
was  an  irresistible  temptation ;  and  the  thought  of 
practising  on  that  splendid  instrument  quite  took  her 
breath  away.  Before  Mrs.  March  could  reply,  Mr. 
Laurence  went  on  with  an  odd  little  nod  and  smile, — 
“  They  need  n’t  see  or  speak  to  any  one,  but  run  in  at 
any  time ;  for  I ’m  shut  up  in  my  study  at  the  other  end 
of  the  house,  Laurie  is  out  a  great  deal,  and  the  servants 
are  never  near  the  drawing-room  after  nine  o’clock.” 

Here  he  rose,  as  if  going,  and  Beth  made  up  her 
mind  to  speak,  for  that  last  arrangement  left  nothing  to 
be  desired.  “  Please  tell  the  young  ladies  what  I  say ; 
and  if  they  don’t  care  to  come,  why,  never  rrdnd.” 
Here  a  little  hand  slipped  into  his,  and  Beth  looked  up 
at  him  with  a  face  full  of  gratitude,  as  she  said,  in  her 
earnest  yet  timid  way,  — 


Beth  Finds  the  Palace  Beautiful  75 

“  O  sir,  they  do  care,  very,  very  much  !  ” 

“  Are  you  the  musical  girl?”  he  asked,  without  any 
startling  “Hey!”  as  he  looked  down  at  her  very 
kindly. 

“  I’m  Beth.  I  love  it  dearly,  and  I  ’ll  come,  if  you 
are  quite  sure  nobody  will  hear  me  — and  be  disturbed,” 
she  added,  fearing  to  be  rude,  and  trembling  at  her  own 
boldness  as  she  spoke. 

“  Not  a  soul,  my  dear.  The  house  is  empty  half  the 
day;  so  come,  and  drum  away  as  much  as  you  like,  and 
I  shall  be  obliged  to  you.” 

“  How  kind  you  are,  sir !  ” 

Beth  blushed  like  a  rose  under  the  friendly  look  he 
wore ;  but  she  was  not  frightened  now,  and  gave  the 
big  hand  a  grateful  squeeze,  because  she  had  no  words 
to  thank  him  for  the  precious  gift  he  had  given  her. 
The  old  gentleman  softly  stroked  the  hair  off  her  fore¬ 
head,  and,  stooping  down,  he  kissed  her,  saying,  in  a 
tone  few  people  ever  heard, — 

“  I  had  a  little  girl  once,  with  eyes  like  these.  God 
bless  you,  my  dear !  Good  day,  madam ;  ”  and  away  he 
went,  in  a  great  hurry. 

Beth  had  a  rapture  with  her  mother,  and  then  rushed 
up  to  impart  the  glorious  news  to  her  family  of  invalids, 
as  the  girls  were  not  at  home.  How  blithely  she  sung 
that  evening,  and  how  they  all  laughed  at  her,  because 
she  woke  Amy  in  the  night  by  playing  the  piano  on  her 
face  in  her  sleep.  Next  day,  having  seen  both  the  old 
and  young  gentleman  out  of  the  house,  Beth,  after  two 
or  three  retreats,  fairly  got  in  at  the  side-door,  and  made 
her  way,  as  noiselessly  as  any  mouse,  to  the  drawing¬ 
room,  where  her  idol  stood.  Quite  by  accident,  of  course, 
some  pretty,  easy  music  lay  on  the  piano ;  and,  with 
trembling  fingers,  and  frequent  stops  to  listen  and  look 


Little  Women 


76 

about,  Beth  at  last  touched  the  great  instrument,  and 
straightway  forgot  her  fear,  herself,  and  everything  else 
but  the  unspeakable  delight  which  the  music  gave  her, 
for  it  was  like  the  voice  of  a  beloved  friend. 

She  stayed  till  Hannah  came  to  take  her  home  to  din¬ 
ner;  but  she  had  no  appetite,  and  could  only  sit  and 
smile  upon  every  one  in  a  general  state  of  beatitude. 

After  that,  the  little  brown  hood  slipped  through  the 
hedge  nearly  every  day,  and  the  great  drawing-room  was 
haunted  by  a  tuneful  spirit  that  came  and  went  unseen. 
She  never  knew  that  Mr.  Laurence  often  opened  his 
study-door  to  hear  the  old-fashioned  airs  he  liked;  she 
never  saw  Laurie  mount  guard  in  the  hall  to  warn  the 
servants  away ;  she  never  suspected  that  the  exercise- 
books  and  new  songs  which  she  found  in  the  rack  were 
put  there  for  her  especial  benefit;  and  when  he  talked  to 
her  about  music  at  home,  she  only  thought  how  kind,  he 
was  to  tell  things  that  helped  her  so  much.  So  she 
enjoyed  herself  heartily,  and  found,  what  is  n’t  always 
the  case,  that  her  granted  wish  was  all  she  had  hoped. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  she  was  so  grateful  for  this 
blessing  that  a  greater  was  given  her ;  at  any  rate,  she 
deserved  both. 

“  Mother,  I ’m  going  to  work  Mr.  Laurence  a  pair  of 
slippers.  He  is  so  kind  to  me,  I  must  thank  him,  and  I 
don’t  know  any  other  way.  Can  I  do  it?”  asked  Beth, 
a  few  weeks  after  that  eventful  call  of  his. 

“Yes,  dear.  It  will  please  him  very  much,  and  be 
a  nice  way  of  thanking  him.  The  girls  will  help  you 
about  them,  and  I  will  pay  for  the  making  up,”  replied 
Mrs.  March,  who  took  peculiar  pleasure  in  granting 
Beth’s  requests,  because  she  so  seldom  asked  anything 
for  herself. 

After  many  serious  discussions  with  Meg  and  Jo,  the 


Beth  Finds  the  Palace  Beautiful  77 

pattern  was  chosen,  the  materials  bought,  and  the  slippers 
begun.  A  cluster  of  grave  yet  cheerful  pansies,  on  a 
deeper  purple  ground,  was  pronounced  very  appropriate 
and  pretty ;  and  Beth  worked  away  early  and  late,  with 
occasional  lifts  over  hard  parts.  She  was  a  nimble  little 
needle-woman,  and  they  were  finished  before  any  one  got 
tired  of  them.  Then  she  wrote  a  very  short,  simple 
note,  and,  with  Laurie’s  help,  got  them  smuggled  on  to 
the  study-table  one  morning  before  the  old  gentleman 
was  up. 

When  this  excitement  was  over,  Beth  waited  to  see 
what  would  happen.  All  that  day  passed,  and  a  part  of 
the  next,  before  any  acknowledgment  arrived,  and  she 
was  beginning  to  fear  she  had  offended  her  crotchety 
friend.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day,  she  went 
out  to  do  an  errand,  and  give  poor  Joanna,  the  invalid 
doll,  her  daily  exercise.  As  she  came  up  the  street,  on 
her  return,  she  saw  three,  yes,  four,  heads  popping  in  and 
out  of  the  parlor  windows,  and  the  moment  they  saw 
her,  several  hands  were  waved,  and  several  joyful  voices 
screamed,  — 

“  Here ’s  a  letter  from  the  old  gentleman !  Come 
quick,  and  read  it !  ” 

“  O  Beth,  he ’s  sent  you —  ”  began  Amy,  gesticulating 
with  unseemly  energy;  but  she  got  no  further,  for  Jo 
quenched  her  by  slamming  down  the  window. 

Beth  hurried  on  in  a  flutter  of  suspense.  At  the  door, 
her  sisters  seized  and  bore  her  to  the  parlor  in  a  triumphal 
procession,  all  pointing,  and  all  saying  at  once,  “  Look 
there  !  look  there  !  ”  Beth  did  look,  and  turned  pale 
with  delight  and  surprise;  for  there  stood  a  little  cabinet- 
piano,  with  a  letter  lying  on  the  glossy  lid,  directed,  like 
a  sign-board,  to  “  Miss  Elizabeth  March.” 

“For  me?”  gasped  Beth,  holding  on  to  Jo,  and  feel- 


7  8  Little  Women 

ing  as  if  she  should  tumble  down,  it  was  such  an  over¬ 
whelming  thing  altogether. 

“  Yes;  all  for  you,  my  precious  !  Isn’t  it  splendid  of 
him?  Don’t  you  think  he  ’s  the  dearest  old  man  in  the 
world?  Here ’s  the  key  in  the  letter.  We  did  n’t  open 
it,  but  we  are  dying  to  know  what  he  says,”  cried  Jo, 
hugging  her  sister,  and  offering  the  note. 

“  You  read  it !  I  can’t,  I  feel  so  queer  !  Oh,  it  is  too 
lovely !  ”  and  Beth  hid  her  face  in  Jo’s  apron,  quite  up¬ 
set  by  her  present. 

Jo  opened  the  paper,  and  began  to  laugh,  for  the  first 
words  she  saw  were,  — 

“  Miss  March  : 

“  Dear  Mada??i ,  —  ” 

“  How  nice  it  sounds  !  I  wish  some  one  would  write 
to  me  so  !  ”  said  Amy,  who  thought  the  old-fashioned 
address  very  elegant. 

“ ‘ 1  have  had  many  pairs  of  slippers  in  my  life,  but  I  never 
had  any  that  suited  me  so  well  as  yours,’  ”  continued  Jo. 
“  ‘  Heart’s-ease  is  my  favorite  flower,  and  these  will  always 
remind  me  of  the  gentle  giver.  I  like  to  pay  my  debts ;  so  I 
know  you  will  allow  “  the  old  gentleman  ”  to  send  you  some¬ 
thing  which  once  belonged  to  the  little  granddaughter  he  lost. 
With  hearty  thanks  and  best  wishes,  I  remain 
“ 1  Your  grateful  friend  and  humble  servant, 

“  ‘  James  Laurence.’ 

“There,  Beth,  that’s  an  honor  to  be  proud  of,  I’m 
sure  !  Laurie  told  me  how  fond  Mr.  Laurence  used  to 
be  of  the  child  who  died,  and  how  he  kept  all  her  little 
things  carefully.  Just  think,  he ’s  given  you  her  piano. 
That  comes  of  having  big  blue  eyes  and  loving  music,” 


Beth  Finds  the  Palace  Beautiful  79 

said  Jo,  trying  to  soothe  Beth,  who  trembled,  and  looked 
more  excited  than  she  had  ever  been  before. 

“  See  the  cunning  brackets  to  hold  candles,  and  the 
nice  green  silk,  puckered  up,  with  a  gold  rose  in  the 
middle,  and  the  pretty  rack  and  stool,  all  complete,” 
added  Meg,  opening  the  instrument  and  displaying  its 
beauties. 

“  *  Your  humble  servant,  James  Laurence  ’ ;  only  think 
of  his  writing  that  to  you.  I  ’ll  tell  the  girls.  They  ’ll 
think  it ’s  splendid,”  said  Amy,  much  impressed  by  the 
note. 

“Try  it,  honey.  Let’s  hear  the  sound  of  the  baby- 
pianny,”  said  Hannah,  who  always  took  a  share  in  the 
family  joys  and  sorrows. 

So  Beth  tried  it ;  and  every  one  pronounced  it  the  most 
remarkable  piano  ever  heard.  It  had  evidently  been 
newly  tuned  and  put  in  apple-pie  order;  but,  perfect 
as  it  was,  I  think  the  real  charm  of  it  lay  in  the  happiest 
of  all  happy  faces  which  leaned  over  it,  as  Beth  lovingly 
touched  the  beautiful  black  and  white  keys  and  pressed 
the  bright  pedals. 

“You’ll  have  to  go  and  thank  him,”  said  Jo,  by  way 
of  a  joke ;  for  the  idea  of  the  child’s  really  going  never 
entered  her  head. 

“  Yes,  I  mean  to.  ’  I  guess  I  ’ll  go  now,  before  I  get 
frightened  thinking  about  it.”  And,  to  the  utter  amaze¬ 
ment  of  the  assembled  family,  Beth  walked  deliberately 
down  the  garden,  through  the  hedge,  and  in  at  the  Lau¬ 
rences’  door. 

“  Well,  I  wish  I  may  die  if  it  ain’t  the  queerest  thing 
I  ever  see !  The  pianny  has  turned  her  head  !  She ’d 
never  have  gone  in  her  right  mind,”  cried  Hannah,  star¬ 
ing  after  her,  while  the  girls  were  rendered  quite  speech¬ 
less  by  the  miracle. 


8o 


Little  Women 


They  would  have  been  still  more  amazed  if  they  had 
seen  what  Beth  did  afterward.  If  you  will  believe  me, 
she  went  and  knocked  at  the  study-door  before  she  gave 
herself  time  to  think ;  and  when  a  gruff  voice  called  out, 
“  Come  in  !  ”  she  did  go  in,  right  up  to  Mr.  Laurence, 
who  looked  quite  taken  aback,  and  held  out  her  hand, 
saying,  with  only  a  small  quaver  in  her  voice,  “  I  came 
to  thank  you,  sir,  for —  ”  But  she  did  n’t  finish;  for  he 
looked  so  friendly  that  she  forgot  her  speech,  and,  only 
remembering  that  he  had  lost  the  little  girl  he  loved,  she 
put  both  arms  round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him. 

If  the  roof  of  the  house  had  suddenly  flown  off,  the 
old  gentleman  would  n’t  have  been  more  astonished ; 
but  he  liked  it,  —  oh,  dear,  yes,  he  liked  it  amazingly  !  — 
and  was  so  touched  and  pleased  by  that  confiding  little 
kiss  that  all  his  crustiness  vanished;  and  he  just  set  her 
on  his  knee,  and  laid  his  wrinkled  cheek  against  her 
rosy  one,  feeling  as  if  he  had  got  his  own  little  grand¬ 
daughter  back  again.  Beth  ceased  to  fear  him  from 
that  moment,  and  sat  there  talking  to  him  as  cosily  as  if 
she  had  known  him  all  her  life ;  for  love  casts  out  fear, 
and  gratitude  can  conquer  pride.  When  she  went 
home,  he  walked  with  her  to  her  own  gate,  shook  hands 
cordially,  and  touched  his  hat  as  he  marched  back  again, 
looking  very  stately  and  erect,  like  a  handsome,  soldierly 
old  gentleman,  as  he  was. 

When  the  girls  saw  that  performance,  Jo  began  to 
dance  a  jig,  by  way  of  expressing  her  satisfaction ;  Amy 
nearly  fell  out  of  the  window  in  her  surprise  ;  and  Meg 
exclaimed,  with  uplifted  hands,  “  Well*  I  do  believe  the 
world  is  coming  to  an  end !  ” 


Amy’s  Valley  ol  Humiliation  81 


CHAPTER  VII 

AMY’S  VALLEY  OF  HUMILIATION 


M  F  I  ^HAT  boy  is  a  perfect  Cyclops,  isn’t  he?” 

said  Amy,  one  day,  as  Laurie  clattered  by 
JL  on  horseback,  with  a  flourish  of  his  whip 
as  ke  passed. 

tc  How  dare  you  say  so,  when  he  ’s  got  both  his  eyes? 
and  very  handsome  ones  they  are,  too,”  cried  Jo,  who 
resented  any  slighting  remarks  about  her  friend. 

“  I  did  n’t  say  anything  about  his  eyes,  and  I  don’t 
see  why  you  need  fire  up  when  I  admire  his  riding.” 

“  Oh,  my  goodness  !  that  little  goose  means  a  cem 
taur,  and  she  called  him  a  Cyclops,”  exclaimed  Jo,  with 
a  burst  of  laughter. 

“  You  need  n’t  be  so  rude  ;  itJs  only  a  ‘  lapse  of  lingy,’ 
a«?  Mr.  Davis  says,”  retorted  Amy,  finishing  Jo  with  her 
Latin.  “  I  just  wish  I  had  a  little  of  the  money  Laurie 
spends  on  that  horse,”  she  added,  as  if  to  herself,  yet 
hoping  her  sisters  would  hear. 

“Why?”  asked  Meg  kindly,  for  Jo  had  gone  off  in 
another  laugh  at  Amy’s  second  blunder. 

“  I  need  it  so  much ;  I ’m  dreadfully  in  debt,  and 
it  won’t  be  my  turn  to  have  the  rag-money  for  a 
month.” 

“In  debt,  Amy?  What  do  you  mean?”  and  Meg 
looked  sober. 

“  Why,  I  owe  at  least  a  dozen  pickled  limes,  and  I 
can’t  pay  them,  you  know,  till  I  have  money,  for  Marmee 
forbade  my  having  anything  charged  at  the  shop.” 

“Tell  me  all  about  it.  Are  limes  the  fashion  now? 

It  used  to  be  pricking  bits  of  rubber  to  make  balls;  ” 

6 


82 


Little  Women 


and  Meg  tried  to  keep  her  countenance,  Amy  looked  so 
grave  and  important. 

“  Why,  you  see,  the  girls  are  always  buying  them, 
and  unless  you  want  to  be  thought  mean,  you  must  do 
it,  too.  It ’s  nothing  but  limes  now,  for  every  one  is 
sucking  them  in  their  desks  in  school-time,  and  trading 
them  off  for  pencils,  bead-rings,  paper  dolls,  or  some¬ 
thing  else,  at  recess.  If  one  girl  likes  another,  she 
gives  her  a  lime ;  if  she ’s  mad  with  her,  she  eats  one 
before  her  face,  and  don’t  offer  even  a  suck.  They  treat 
by  turns ;  and  I ’ve  had  ever  so  many,  but  have  n’t 
returned  them  ;  and  I  ought,  for  they  are  debts  of  honor, 
you  know.” 

“  How  much  will  pay  them  off,  and  restore  your 
credit?  ”  asked  Meg,  taking  out  her  purse. 

“  A  quarter  would  more  than  do  it,  and  leave  a  few 
cents  over  for  a  treat  for  you.  Don’t  you  like  limes?” 

“Not  much;  you  may  have  my  share.  Here’s  the 
money.  Make  it  last  as  long  as  you  can,  for  it  is  n’t 
very  plenty,  you  know.” 

“  Oh,  thank  you  !  It  must  be  so  nice  to  have  pocket- 
money  !  I  ’ll  have  a  grand  feast,  for  I  have  n’t  tasted 
a  lime  this  week.  I  felt  delicate  about  taking  any, 
as  I  could  n’t  return  them,  and  I ’m  actually  suffering 
for  one.” 

Next  day  Amy  was  rather  late  at  school ;  but  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  of  displaying,  with  pardonable 
pride,  a  moist  brown-paper  parcel,  before  she  consigned 
it  to  the  inmost  recesses  of  her  desk.  Durinsr  the  next 
few  minutes  the  rumor  that  Amy  March  had  got  twenty- 
four  delicious  limes  (she  ate  one  on  the  way),  and  was 
going  to  treat,  circulated  through  her  “  set,”  and  the 
attentions  of  her  friends  became  quite  overwhelming. 
Katy  Brown  invited  her  to  her  next  party  on  the  spot; 


Amy’s  Valley  of  Humiliation  83 

Mary  Kingsley  insisted  on  lending  her  her  watch  till 
1 ecess ,  and  Jenny  Snow,  a  satirical  young  lady,  who 
had  basely  twitted  Amy  upon  her  limeless  'state, 
promptly  buried  the  hatchet,  and  offered  to  furnish 
answers  to  certain  appalling  sums.  But  Amy  had  not 
forgotten  Miss  Snow’s  cutting  remarks  about  “  some 
persons  whose  noses  were  not  too  flat  to  smell  other 
people  s  limes,  and  stuck-up  people,  who  were  not  too 
proud  to  ask  for  them;”  and  she  instantly  crushed 
“  thM  Snow  girl’s  ”  hopes  by  the  withering  telegram, 
“You  needn’t  be  so  polite  all  of  a  sudden,  for  you 
won’t  get  any.” 

A  distinguished  personage  happened  to  visit  the 
school  that  morning,  and  Amy’s  beautifully  drawn  maps 
received  praise,  which  honor  to  her  foe  rankled  in  the 
soul  of  Miss  Snow,  and  caused  Miss  March  to  assume 
the  airs  of  a  studious  young  peacock.  But,  alas,  alas! 
pride  goes  before  a  fall,  and  the  revengeful  Snow  turned 
the  tables  with  disastrous  success.  No  sooner  had  the 
guest  paid  the  usual  stale  compliments,  and  bowed  him¬ 
self  out,  than  Jenny,  under  pretence  of  asking  an  im¬ 
portant  question,  informed  Mr.  Davis,  the  teacher,  that 
Amy  March  had  pickled  limes  in  her  desk. 

Now  Mr.  Davis  had  declared  limes  a  contraband 
article,  and  solemnly  vowed  to  publicly  ferrule  the  first 
person  who  was  found  breaking  the  law.  This  much- 
enduring  man  had  succeeded  in  banishing  chewing-gum 
after  a  long  and  stormy  war,  had  made  a  bonfire  of  the 
confiscated  novels  and  newspapers,  had  suppressed  a 
private  post-office,  had  forbidden  distortions  of  the  face, 
nicknames,  and  caricatures,  and  done  all  that  one  man 
could  do  to  keep  half  a  hundred  rebellious  girls  in 
order.  Boys  are  trying  enough  to  human  patience, 
goodness  knows  !  but  girls  are  infinitely  more  so,  espe- 


Little  Women 


84 

dally  to  nervous  gentlemen,  with  tyrannical  tempers, 
and  no  more  talent  for  teaching  than  Dr.  Blimber.  Mr. 
Davis  knew  any  quantity  of  Greek,  Latin,  Algebra,  and 
ologies  of  all  sorts,  so  he  was  called  a  fine  teacher ; 
and  manners,  morals,  feelings,  and  examples  were  not 
considered  of  any  particular  importance.  It  was  a  most 
unfortunate  moment  for  denouncing  Amy,  and  Jenny 
knew  it.  Mr.  Davis  had  evidently  taken  his  coffee  too 
strong  that  morning;  there  was  an  east  wind,  which 
always  affected  his  neuralgia ;  and  his  pupils  had  not 
done  him  the  credit  which  he  felt  he  deserved :  there¬ 
fore,  to  use  the  expressive,  if  not  elegant,  language  of  a 
school-girl,  “  he  was  as  nervous  as  a  witch  and  as  cross 
as  a  bear.”  The  word  ‘Mimes  ”  was  like  fire  to  powder; 
his  yellow  face  flushed,  and  he  rapped  on  his  desk  with 
an  energy  which  made  Jenny  skip  to  her  seat  with 
unusual  rapidity. 

“Young  ladies,  attention,  if  you  please  !  ” 

At  the  stern  order  the  buzz  ceased,  and  fifty  pairs  ot 
blue,  black,  gray,  and  brown  eyes  were  obediently  fixed 
upon  his  awful  countenance. 

“  Miss  March,  come  to  the  desk.” 

Amy  rose  to  comply  with  outward  composure,  but  a 
secret  fear  oppressed  her,  for  the  limes  weighed  upon 
her  conscience. 

“  Bring  with  you  the  limes  you  have  in  your  desk,” 
was  the  unexpected  command  which  arrested  her  before 
she  got  out  of  her  seat. 

“  Don’t  take  all,”  whispered  her  neighbor,  a  young 
lady  of  great  presence  of  mind. 

Amy  hastily  shook  out  half  a  dozen,  and  laid  the  rest 
down  before  Mr.  Davis,  feeling  that  any  man  possessing 
a  human  heart  would  relent  when  that  delicious  perfume 
met  his  nose.  Unfortunately,  Mr.  Davis  particularly  de« 


Amy’s  Valley  of  Humiliation  85 

tested  the  odor  of  the  fashionable  pickle,  and  disgust 
added  to  his  wrath. 

“  Is  that  all?  ” 

“  Not  quite,”  stammered  Amy. 

“  Bring  the  rest  immediately.” 

With  a  despairing  glance  at  her  set,  she  obeyed. 

“  You  are  sure  there  are  no  more?” 

“  I  never  lie,  sir.” 

“  So  I  see.  Now  take  these  disgusting  things  two  by 
two,  and  throw  them  out  of  the  window.” 

There  was  a  simultaneous  sigh,  which  created  quite  a 
little  gust,  as  the  last  hope  fled,  and  the  treat  was 
ravished  from  their  longing  lips.  Scarlet  with  shame 
and  anger,  Amy  went  to  and  fro  six  dreadful  times; 
and  as  each  doomed  couple  —  looking  oh  !  so  plump 
and  juicy  —  fell  from  her  reluctant  hands,  a  shout  from 
the  street  completed  the  anguish  of  the  girls,  for  it  told 
them  that  their  feast  was  being  exulted  over  by  the  little 
Irish  children,  who  were  their  sworn  foes.  This  —  this 
was  too  much  ;  all  flashed  indignant  or  appealing  glances 
at  the  inexorable. Davis,  and  one  passionate  lime-lover 
burst  into  tears. 

As  Amy  returned  from  her  last  trip,  Mr.  Davis  gave 
a  portentous  “  Hem  !  ”  and  said,  in  his  most  impressive 
manner,  — 

“  Young  ladies,  you  remember  what  I  said  to  you  a 
week  ago.  I  am  sorry  this  has  happened ;  but  I  never 
allow  my  rules  to  be  infringed,  and  I  never  break  my 
word.  Miss  March,  hold  out  your  hand.” 

Amy  started,  and  put  both  hands  behind  her,  turning 
on  him  an  imploring  look  which  pleaded  for  her  better 
than  the  words  she  could  not  utter.  She  was  rather  a 
favorite  with  “  old  Davis,”  as,  of  course,  he  was  called, 
and  it ’s  my  private  belief  that  he  would  have  broken  his 


86 


Little  Women 


word  if  the  indignation  of  one  irrepressible  young  lady 
had  not  found  vent  in  a  hiss.  That  hiss,  faint  as  it  was, 
irritated  the  irascible  gentleman,  and  sealed  the  culprit’s 
fate. 

“  Your  hand,  Miss  March !  ”  was  the  only  answer  her 
mute  appeal  received  ;  and,  too  proud  to  cry  or  beseech, 
Amy  set  her  teeth,  threw  back  her  head  defiantly, 
and  bore  without  flinching  several  tingling  blows  on  her 
little  palm.  They  were  neither  many  nor  heavy,  but  that 
made  no  difference  to  her.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  had  been  struck;  and  the  disgrace,  in  her  eyes, 
was  as  deep  as  if  he  had  knocked  her  down. 

“You  will  now  stand  on  the  platform  till  recess,”  said 
Mr.  Davis,  resolved  to  do  the  thing  thoroughly,  since  he 
had  begun. 

That  was  dreadful.  It  would  have  been  bad  enough 
to  go  to  her  seat,  and  see  the  pitying  faces  of  her  friends, 
or  the  satisfied  ones  of  her  few  enemies ;  but  to  face  the 
whole  school,  with  that  shame  fresh  upon  her,  seemed 
impossible,  and  for  a  second  she  felt  as  if  she  could  only 
drop  down  where  she  stood,  and  break  her  heart  with 
crying.  A  bitter  sense  of  wrong,  and  the  thought  of 
Jenny  Snow,  helped  her  to  bear  it;  and,  taking  the 
ignominious  place,  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  stove-funnel 
above  what  now  seemed  a  sea  of  faces,  and  stood  there, 
so  motionless  and  white  that  the  girls  found  it  very  hard 
to  study,  with  that  pathetic  figure  before  them. 

During  the  fifteen  minutes  that  followed,  the  proud 
and  sensitive  little  girl  suffered  a  shame  and  pain  which 
she  never  forgot.  To  others  it  might  seem  a  ludicrous 
or  trivial  affair,  but  to  her  it  was  a  hard  experience ; 
for  during  the  twelve  years  of  her  life  she  had  been 
governed  by  love  alone,  and  a  blow  of  that  sort  had 
never  touched  her  before.  The  smart  of  her  hand  and 


Amy’s  Valley  of  Humiliation  87 

the  ache  of  her  heart  were  forgotten  in  the  sting  of 
the  thought, — 

“  I  shall  have  to  tell  at  home,  and  they  will  be  so  dis¬ 
appointed  in  me  !  ” 

The  fifteen  minutes  seemed  an  hour ;  but  they  came 
to  an  end  at  last,  and  the  word  “  Recess !  ”  had  never 
seemed  so  welcome  to  her  before. 

“You  can  go,  Miss  March,”  said  Mr.  Davis,  looking, 
as  he  felt,  uncomfortable. 

He  did  not  soon  forget  the  reproachful  glance  Amy 
gave  him,  as  she  went,  without  a  word  to  any  one, 
straight  into  the  ante-room,  snatched  her  things,  and  left 
the  place  “  forever,”  as  she  passionately  declared  to  her¬ 
self.  She  was  in  a  sad  state  when  she  got  home ;  and 
when  the  older  girls  arrived,  some  time  later,  an  indigna¬ 
tion  meeting  was  held  at  once.  Mrs.  March  did  not  say 
much,  but  looked  disturbed,  and  comforted  her  afflicted 
little  daughter  in  her  tenderest  manner.  Meg  bathed 
the  insulted  hand  with  glycerine  and  tears ;  Beth  felt 
that  even  her  beloved  kittens  would  fail  as  a  balm  for 
griefs  like  this;  Jo  wrathfully  proposed  that  Mr.  Davis 
be  arrested  without  delay ;  and  Hannah  shook  her  fist 
at  the  “  villain,”  and  pounded  potatoes  for  dinner  as  if 
she  had  him  under  her  pestle. 

No  notice  was  taken  of  Amy’s  flight,  except  by  her 
mates ;  but  the  sharp-eyed  demoiselles  discovered  that 
Mr.  Davis  was  quite  benignant  in  the  afternoon,  also  un¬ 
usually  nervous.  Just  before  school  closed,  Jo  appeared, 
wearing  a  grim  expression,  as  she  stalked  up  to  the  desk, 
and  delivered  a  letter  from  her  mother ;  then  collected 
Amy’s  property,  and  departed,  carefully  scraping  the 
mud  from  her  boots  on  the  door-mat,  as  if  she  shook 
the  dust  of  the  place  off  her  feet. 

“Yes,  you  can  have  a  vacation  from  school,  but  I 


88 


Little  Women 


want  you  to  study  a  little  every  day,  with  Beth,”  said 
Mrs.  March,  that  evening.  “  I  don’t  approve  of  cor¬ 
poral  punishment,  especially  for  girls.  I  dislike  Mr. 
Davis’s  manner  of  teaching,  and  don’t  think  the  girls  you 
associate  with  are  doing  you  any  good,  so  I  shall  ask 
your  father’s  advice  before  I  send  you  anywhere  else.” 

“  That ’s  good  !  I  wish  all  the  girls  would  leave,  and 
spoil  his  old  school.  It’s  perfectly  maddening  to  think 
of  those  lovely  limes,”  sighed  Amy,  with  the  air  of  a 
martyr. 

“  I  am  not  sorry  you  lost  them,  for  you  broke  the 
rules,  and  deserved  some  punishment  for  disobedience,” 
was  the  severe  reply,  which  rather  disappointed  the 
young  lady,  who  expected  nothing  but  sympathy. 

“  Do  you  mean  you  are  glad  I  was  disgraced  before 
the  whole  school?”  cried  Amy. 

“  I  should  not  have  chosen  that  way  of  mending  a 
fault,”  replied  her  mother;  “but  I’m  not  sure  that  it 
won’t  do  you  more  good  than  a  milder  method.  You 
are  getting  to  be  rather  conceited,  my  dear,  and  it  is 
quite  time  you  set  about  correcting  it.  You  have  a 
good  many  little  gifts  and  virtues,  but  there  is  no  need 
of  parading  them,  for  conceit  spoils  the  finest  genius. 
There  is  not  much  danger  that  real  talent  or  goodness 
will  be  overlooked  long;  even  if  it  is,  the  consciousness 
of  possessing  and  using  it  well  should  satisfy  one,  and 
the  great  charm  of  all  power  is  modesty.” 

“  So  it  is  !  ”  cried  Laurie,  who  was  playing  chess  in  a 
corner  with  Jo.  “I  knew  a  girl,  once,  who  had  a  really 
remarkable  talent  for  music,  and  she  did  n’t  know  it ; 
never  guessed  what  sweet  little  things  she  composed 
when  she  was  alone,  and  would  n’t  have  believed  it  if 
any  one  had  told  her.” 

“  I  wish  I ’d  known  that  nice  girl ;  maybe  she  would 


Amy’s  Valley  of  Humiliation  89 

have  helped  me,  I’m  so  stupid,”  said  Beth,  who  stood 
beside  him,  listening  eagerly. 

“  You  do  know  her,  and  she  helps  you  better  than  any 
one  else  could,”  answered  Laurie,  looking  at  her  with 
such  mischievous  meaning  in  his  merry  black  eyes,  that 
Beth  suddenly  turned  very  red,  and  hid  her  face  in  the 
sofa-cushion,  quite  overcome  by  such  an  unexpected  dis¬ 
covery. 

Jo  let  Laurie  win  the  game,  to  pay  for  that  praise  of 
her  Beth,  who  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  play  for 
them  after  her  compliment.  So  Laurie  did  his  best,  and 
sung  delightfully,  being  in  a  particularly  lively  humor, 
for  to  the  Marches  he  seldom  showed  the  moody  side  of 
his  character.  When  he  was  gone,  Amy,  who  had  been 
pensive  all  the  evening,  said  suddenly,  as  if  busy  over 
some  new  idea,  — 

“  Is  Laurie  an  accomplished  boy?” 

“Yes  ;  he  has  had  an  excellent  education,  and  has  much 
talent ;  he  will  make  a  fine  man,  if  not  spoilt  by  petting,” 
replied  her  mother. 

“  And  he  is  n’t  conceited,  is  he?  ”  asked  Amy. 

“  Not  in  the  least;  that  is  why  he  is  so  charming,  and 
we  all  like  him  so  much.” 

“  I  see ;  it  *s  nice  to  have  accomplishments,  and  be 
elegant;  but  not  to  show  off,  or  get  perked  up,”  said 
Amy  thoughtfully. 

“  These  things  are  always  seen  and  felt  in  a  person’s 
manner  and  conversation,  if  modestly  used;  but  it  is  not 
necessary  to  display  them,”  said  Mrs.  March. 

“  Any  more  than  it ’s  proper  to  wear  all  your  bonnets 
and  gowns  and  ribbons  at  once,  that  folks  may  know 
you’ve  got  them,”  added  Jo;  and  the  lecture  ended  in 
a  laugh. 


90 


Little  Women 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JO  MEETS  APOLLYON 

a  IRLS,  where  are  you  going?”  asked  Amy, 

H  coming  into  their  room  one  Saturday  after- 

noon,  and  finding  them  getting  ready  to  go 
out,  with  an  air  of  secrecy  which  excited  her  curiosity. 

“Never  mind;  little  girls  shouldn’t  ask  questions,” 
returned  Jo  sharply. 

Now  if  there  is  anything  mortifying  to  our  feelings, 
when  we  are  young,  it  is  to  be  told  that ;  and  to  be  bid¬ 
den  to  “  run  away,  dear,”  is  still  more  trying  to  us.  Amy 
bridled  up  at  this  insult,  and  determined  to  find  out  the 
secret,  if  she  teased  for  an  hour.  Turning  to  Meg,  who 
never  refused  her  anything  very  long,  she  said  coax- 
ingly,  “  Do  tell  me !  I  should  think  you  might  let  me 
go,  too  ;  for  Beth  is  fussing  over  her  piano,  and  I  have  n’t 
got  anything  to  do,  and  am  so  lonely.” 

“  I  can’t,  dear,  because  you  are  n’t  invited,”  began 
Meg ;  but  Jo  broke  in  impatiently,  “  Now,  Meg,  be  quiet, 
or  you  will  spoil  it  all.  You  can’t  go,  Amy;  so  don’t 
be  a  baby,  and  whine  about  it.” 

“  You  are  going  somewhere  with  Laurie,  I  know  you 
are ;  you  were  whispering  and  laughing  together,  on  the 
sofa,  last  night,  and  you  stopped  when  I  came  in.  Are  n’t 
you  going  with  him?  ” 

“Yes,  we  are;  now  do  be  still,  and  stop  bothering.” 

Amy  held  her  tongue,  but  used  her  eyes,  and  saw  Meg 
slip  a  fan  into  her  pocket. 

“  I  know !  I  know !  you  ’re  going  to  the  theatre  to  see 
the  ‘  Seven  Castles  !  ’  ”  she  cried ;  adding  resolutely, 
“  and  I  shall  go,  for  mother  said  I  might  see  it ;  and  I ’ve 


Jo  Meets  Apollyon  91 

£ ot  my  rag-money,  and  it  was  mean  not  to  tell  me  in 
time.” 

“Just  listen  to  me  a  minute,  and  be  a  good  child,” 
said  Meg  soothingly.  “  Mother  does  n’t  wish  you  to  go 
this  week,  because  your  eyes  are  not  well  enough  yet  to 
bear  the  light  of  this  fairy  piece.  Next  week  you  can 
go  with  Beth  and  Hannah,  and  have  a  nice  time.” 

“  I  don’t  like  that  half  as  well  as  going  with  you  and 
Laurie.  Please  let  me  ;  I ’ve  been  sick  with  this  cold  so 
long,  and  shut  up,  I ’m  dying  for  some  fun.  Do,  Meg ! 
I  ’ll  be  ever  so  good,”  pleaded  Amy,  looking  as  pathetic 
as  she  could. 

“  Suppose  we  take  her.  I  don’t  believe  mother  would 
mind,  if  we  bundle  her  up  well,”  began  Meg. 

“  If  she  goes  I  sha’n’t ;  and  if  I  don’t,  Laurie  won’t  like 
it ;  and  it  will  be  very  rude,  after  he  invited  only  us,  to 
go  and  drag  in  Amy.  I  should  think  she ’d  hate  to  poke 
herself  where  she  is  n’t  wanted,”  said  Jo  crossly,  for  she 
disliked  the  trouble  of  overseeing  a  fidgety  child,  when 
she  wanted  to  enjoy  herself. 

Her  tone  and  manner  angered  Amy,  who  began  to 
put  her  boots  on,  saying,  in  her  most  aggravating  way, 
“  I  shall  go;  Meg  says  I  may;  and  if  I  pay  for  myself, 
Laurie  hasn’t  anything  to  do  with  it.” 

“You  can’t  sit  with  us,  for  our  seats  are  reserved,  and 
you  must  n’t  sit  alone;  so  Laurie  will  give  you  his  place, 
and  that  will  spoil  our  pleasure ;  or  he  ’ll  get  another 
seat  for  you,  and  that  is  n’t  proper,  when  you  were  n’t 
asked.  You  sha’n’t  stir  a  step ;  so  you  may  just  stay 
where  you  are,”  scolded  Jo,  crosser  than  ever,  having 
just  pricked  her  finger  in  her  hurry. 

Sitting  on  the  floor,  with  one  boot  on,  Amy  began  to 
cry,  and  Meg  to  reason  with  her,  when  Laurie  called 
from  below,  and  the  two  girls  hurried  down,  leaving 


92  Little  Women 

their  sister  wailing;  for  now  and  then  she  forgot  her 
grown-up  ways,  and  acted  like  a  spoilt  child.  Just  as 
the  party  was  setting  out,  Amy  called  over  the  banisters, 
in  a  threatening  tone,  “  You  ’ll  be  sorry  for  this,  Jo  March ; 
see  if  you  ain’t.” 

“  Fiddlesticks  !  ”  returned  Jo,  slamming  the  door. 

They  had  a  charming  time,  for  “  The  Seven  Castles  of 
the  Diamond  Lake  ”  were  as  brilliant  and  wonderful  as 
heart  could  wish.  But,  in  spite  of  the  comical  red  imps, 
sparkling  elves,  and  gorgeous  princes  and  princesses,  Jo’s 
pleasure  had  a  drop  of  bitterness  in  it;  the  fairy  queen’s 
yellow  curls  reminded  her  of  Amy ;  and  between  the  acts 
she  amused  herself  with  wondering  what  her  sister  would 
do  to  make  her  “  sorry  for  it.”  She  and  Amy  had  had 
many  lively  skirmishes  in  the  course  of  their  lives,  for 
both  had  quick  tempers,  and  were  apt  to  be  violent  when 
fairly  roused.  Amy  teased  Jo,  and  Jo  irritated  Amy, 
and  semi-occasional  explosions  occurred,  of  which  both 
were  much  ashamed  afterward.  Although  the  oldest,  Jo 
had  the  least  self-control,  and  had  hard  times  trying  to 
curb  the  fiery  spirit  which  was  continually  getting  her 
into  trouble ;  her  anger ,  never  lasted  long,  and,  having 
humbly  confessed  her  fault,  she  sincerely  repented, 
and  tried  to  do  better.  Her  sisters  used  to  say  that 
they  rather  liked  to  get  Jo  into  a  fury,  because  she 
was  such  an  angel  afterward.  Poor  Jo  tried  desper¬ 
ately  to  be  good,  but  her  bosom  enemy  was  always 
ready  to  flame  up  and  defeat  her ;  and  it  took  years  of 
patient  effort  to  subdue  it. 

When  they  got  home,  they  found  Amy  reading  in  the 
parlor.  She  assumed  an  injured  air  as  they  came  in; 
never  lifted  her  eyes  from  her  book,  or  asked  a  single 
question.  Perhaps  curiosity  might  have  conquered 
resentment,  if  Beth  had  not  been  there  to  inquire,  and 


Jo  Meets  Apollyon  •  93 

receive  a  glowing  description  of  the  play.  On  going  up 
to  put  away  her  best  hat,  Jo’s  first  look  was  toward  the 
bureau ;  for,  in  their  last  quarrel,  Amy  had  soothed  her 
feelings  by  turning  Jo’s  top  drawer  upside  down  on  the 
floor.  Everything  was  in  its  place,  however;  and  after 
a  hasty  glance  into  her  various  closets,  bags,  and  boxes, 
Jo  decided  that  Amy  had  forgiven  and  forgotten  her 
wrongs. 

There  Jo  was  mistaken;  for  next  day  she  made  a 
discovery  which  produced  a  tempest.  Meg,  Beth,  and 
Amy  were  sitting  together,  late  in  the  afternoon,  when 
Jo  burst  into  the  room,  looking  excited,  and  demanding 
breathlessly,  “  Has  any  one  taken  my  book  ?” 

Meg  and  Beth  said  “  No,”  at  once,  and  looked  sur¬ 
prised  ;  Amy  poked  the  fire,  and  said  nothing.  Jo  saw 
her  color  rise,  and  was  down  upon  her  in  a  minute. 

“  Amy,  you ’ve  got  it !  ” 

“  No,  I  have  n’t.” 

“  You  know  where  it  is,  then  !  ” 

“  No,  I  don’t.” 

“  That ’s  a  fib  !  ”  cried  Jo,  taking  her  by  the  shoulders, 
and  looking  fierce  enough  to  frighten  a  much  braver 
child  than  Amy. 

“  It  is  n’t.  I  have  n’t  got  it,  don’t  know  where  it  is 
now,  and  don't  care.” 

“  You  know  something  about  it,  and  you ’d  better  tell 
at  once,  or  I  ’ll  make  you,”  and  Jo  gave  her  a  slight 
shake. 

“  Scold  as  much  as  you  like,  you  ’ll  never  see  your  silly 
old  book  again,”  cried  Amy,  getting  excited  in  her  turn. 

“  Why  not?  ” 

“  I  burnt  it  up.” 

“  What !  my  little  book  I  was  so  fond  of,  and  worked 
over,  and  meant  to  finish  before  father  got  home?  Have 


Little  Women 


94 

you  really  burnt  it?”  said  Jo,  turning  very  pale,  while 
her  eyes  kindled  and  her  hands  clutched  Amy  nervously. 

“  Yes,  I  did  !  I  told  you  I ’d  make  you  pay  for  being 
so  cross  yesterday,  and  I  have,  so  —  ” 

Amy  got  no  farther,  for  Jo’s  hot  temper  mastered  her, 
and  she  shook  Amy  till  her  teeth  chattered  in  her  head ; 
crying,  in  a  passion  of  grief  and  anger,  — 

“  You  wicked,  wicked  girl !  I  never  can  write  it  again, 
and  I  ’ll  never  forgive  you  as  long  as  I  live.” 

Meg  flew  to  rescue  Amy,  and  Beth  to  pacify  Jo,  but 
Jo  was  quite  beside  herself;  and,  with  a  parting  box  on 
her  sister’s  ear,  she  rushed  out  of  the  room  up  to  the 
old  sofa  in  the  garret,  and  finished  her  fight  alone. 

The  storm  cleared  up  below,  for  Mrs.  March  came 
home,  and,  having  heard  the  story,  soon  brought  Amy 
to  a  sense  of  the  wrong  she  had  done  her  sister.  Jo’s 
book  was  the  pride  of  her  heart,  and  was  regarded  by 
her  family  as  a  literary  sprout  of  great  promise.  It  was 
only  half  a  dozen  little  fairy  tales,  but  Jo  had  worked 
over  them  patiently,  putting  her  whole  heart  into  her 
work,  hoping  to  make  something  good  enough  to  print. 
She  had  just  copied  them  with  great  care,  and  had  de¬ 
stroyed  the  old  manuscript,  so  that  Amy’s  bonfire  had 
consumed  the  loving  work  of  several  years.  It  seemed 
a  small  loss  to  others,  but  to  Jo  it  was  a  dreadful  calam¬ 
ity,  and  she  felt  that  it  never  could  be  made  up  to  her. 
Beth  mourned  as  for  a  departed  kitten,  and  Meg  refused 
to  defend  her  pet ;  Mrs.  March  looked  grave  and  grieved, 
and  Amy  felt  that  no  one  would  love  her  till  she  had 
asked  pardon  for  the  act  which  she  now  regretted  more 
than  any  of  them. 

When  the  tea-bell  rung,  Jo  appeared,  looking  so 
grim  and  unapproachable  that  it  took  all  Amy’s  courage 
to  say  meekly,  — 


95 


Jo  Meets  Apollyon 

“  Please  forgive  me,  Jo ;  I’m  very,  very  sorry.” 

“I  never  shall  forgive  you,”  was  Jo’s  stern  answer; 
and,  from  that  moment,  she  ignored  Amy  entirely. 

No  one  spoke  of  the  great  trouble,  —  not  even  Mrs. 
March,  —  for  all  had  learned  by  experience  that  when 
Jo  was  in  that  mood  words  were  wasted ;  and  the  wisest 
course  was  to  wait  till  some  little  accident,  or  her  own 
generous  nature,  softened  Jo’s  resentment,  and  healed 
the  breach.  It  w^as  not  a  happy  evening;  for,  though 
they  sewed  as  usual,  while  their  mother  read  aloud  from 
Bremer,  Scott,  or  Edgeworth,  something  was  wanting, 
and  the  sweet  home-peace  was  disturbed.  They  felt 
this  most  when  singing-time  came ;  for  Beth  could  only 
play,  Jo  stood  dumb  as  a  stone,  and  Amy  broke  down, 
so  Meg  and  mother  sung  alone.  But,  in  spite  of  their 
efforts  to  be  as  cheery  as  larks,  the  flute-like  voices  did 
not  seem  to  chord  as  well  as  usual,  and  all  felt  out  of 
tune. 

As  Jo  received  her  good-night  kiss,  Mrs.  March  whis¬ 
pered  gently,  — 

“  My  dear,  don’t  let  the  sun  go  down  upon  your  anger ; 
forgive  each  other,  help  each  other,  and  begin  again 
to-morrow.” 

Jo  wanted  to  lay  her  head  down  on  that  motherly 
bosom,  and  cry  her  grief  and  anger  all  away;  but  tears 
were  an  unmanly  weakness,  and  she  felt  so  deeply  in¬ 
jured  that  she  reall y  couldn't  quite  forgive  yet.  So  she 
winked  hard,  shook  her  head,  and  said,  gruffly  because 
Amy  was  listening,  — 

“  It  was  an  abominable  thing,  and  she  don’t  deserve 
to  be  forgiven.” 

With  that  she  marched  off  to  bed,  and  there  was  no 
merry  or  confidential  gossip  that  night. 

Amy  was  much  offended  that  her  overtures  of  peace 


Little  Women 


96 

had  been  repulsed,  and  began  to  wish  she  had  not  hum* 
bled  herself,  to  feel  more  injured  than  ever,  and  to  plume 
herself  on  her  superior  virtue  in  a  way  which  was  particu¬ 
larly  exasperating.  Jo  still  looked  like  a  thunder-cloud, 
and  nothing  went  well  all  day.  It  was  bitter  cold  in  the 
morning;  she  dropped  her  precious  turn-over  in  the 
gutter,  Aunt  March  had  an  attack  of  fidgets,  Meg  was 
pensive,  Beth  would  look  grieved  and  wistful  when  she 
got  home,  and  Amy  kept  making  remarks  about  people 
who  were  always  talking  about  being  good,  and  yet 
would  n’t  try,  when  other  people  set  them  a  virtuous 
example. 

“  Everybody  is  so  hateful,  I  ’ll  ask  Laurie  to  go  skat¬ 
ing.  He  is  always  kind  and  jolly,  and  will  put  me  to 
rights,  I  know,”  said  Jo  to  herself,  and  off  she  went. 

Amy  heard  the  clash  of  skates,  and  looked  out  with 
an  impatient  exclamation,  — 

“  There !  she  promised  I  should  go  next  time,  lor 
this  is  the  last  ice  we  shall  have.  But  it ’s  no  use  to  ask 
such  a  cross-patch  to  take  me.” 

“Don’t  say  that;  you  were  very  naughty,  and  it  is 
hard  to  forgive  the  loss  of  her  precious  little  book ;  but 
I  think  she  might  do  it  now,  and  I  guess  she  will,  if  you 
try  her  at  the  right  minute,”  said  Meg.  “  Go  after  them  ; 
don’t  say  anything  till  Jo  has  got  good-natured  with 
Laurie,  then  take  a  quiet  minute,  and  just  kiss  her,  or 
do  some  kind  thing,  and  I ’m  sure  she  ’ll  be  friends  again, 
with  all  her  heart.” 

“I  ’ll  try,”  said  Amy,  for  the  advice  suited  her;  and, 
after  a  flurry  to  get  ready,  she  ran  after  the  friends,  who 
were  just  disappearing  over  the  hill. 

It  was  not  far  to  the  river,  but  both  were  ready  before 
Amy  reached  them.  Jo  saw  her  coming,  and  turned  her 
back ;  Laurie  did  not  see,  for  he  was  carefully  skating 


Jo  Meets  Apollyon  97 

along  the  shore,  sounding  the  ice,  for  a  warm  spell  had 
preceded  the  cold  snap. 

“  I  ’ll  go  on  to  the  first  bend,  and  see  if  it’s  all  right, 
before  we  begin  to  race,”  Amy  heard  him  say,  as  he 
shot  away,  looking  like  a  young  Russian,  in  his  fur- 
trimmed  coat  and  cap. 

Jo  heard  Amy  panting  after  her  run,  stamping  her 
feet  and  blowing  her  fingers,  as  she  tried  to  put  her 
skates  on;  but  Jo  never  turned,  and  went  slowly  zigzag- 
ing  down  the  rive?,  taking  a  bitter,  unhappy  sort  of  sat¬ 
isfaction  in  her  sister’s  troubles.  She  had  cherished  her 
anger  till  it  grew  strong,  and  took  possession  of  her,  as 
evil  thoughts  and  feelings  always  do,  unless  cast  out  at 
once.  As  Laurie  turned  the  bend,  he  shouted  back,  — 

“  Keep  near  the  shore ;  it  is  n’t  safe  in  the  middle.” 

t 

Jo  heard,  but  Amy  was  just  struggling  to  her  feet,  and 
did  not  catch  a  word.  Jo  glanced  over  her  shoulder, 
and  the  little  demon  she  was  harboring  said  in  her 
ear,  — 

“No  matter  whether  she  heard  or  not,  let  her  take 
care  of  herself.” 

Laurie  had  vanished  round  the  bend;  Jo  was  just  at 
the  turn,  and  Amy,  far  behind,  striking  out  toward  the 
smoother  ice  in  the  middle  of  the  river.  For  a  minute 
Jo  stood  still,  with  a  strange  feeling  at  her  heart;  then 
she  resolved  to  go  on,  but  something  held  and  turned 
her  round,  just  in  time  to  see  Amy  throw  up  her  hands 
and  go  down,  with  the  sudden  crash  of  rotten  ice,  the 
splash  of  water,  and  a  cry  that  made  Jo’s  heart  stand 
still  with  fear.  She  tried  to  call  Laurie,  but  her  voice 
was  gone  ;  she  tried  to  rush  forward,  but  her  feet  seemed 
to  have  no  strength  in  them;  and,  for  a  second,  she 
could  only  stand  motionless,  staring,  with  a  terror- 
stricken  face,  at  the  little  blue  hood  above  the  black 

1 


Little  Women 


98 

water.  Something  rushed  swiftly  by  her,  and  Laurie’s 
voice  cried  out,  — - 

“  Bring  a  rail ;  quick,  quick  !  ” 

How  she  did  it,  she  never  knew ;  but  for  the  next  few 
minutes  she  worked  as  if  possessed,  blindly  obeying 
Laurie,  who  was  quite  self-possessed,  and,  lying  flat,  held 
Amy  up  by  his  arm  and  hockey  till  Jo  dragged  a  rail 
from  the  fence,  and  together  they  got  the  child  out, 
more  frightened  than  hurt. 

“  Now  then,  we  must  walk  her  home  as  fast  as  we  can  ; 
pile  our  things  on  her,  while  I  get  off  these  confounded 
skates,”  cried  Laurie,  wrapping  his  coat  round  Amy, 
and  tugging  away  at  the  straps,  which  never  seemed  so 
intricate  before. 

Shivering,  dripping,  and  crying,  they  got  Amy  home ; 
and,  after  an  exciting  time  of  it,  she  fell  asleep,  rolled  in 
blankets,  before  a  hot  fire.  During  the  bustle  Jo  had 
scarcely  spoken ;  but  flown  about,  looking  pale  and  wild, 
with  her  things  half  off,  her  dress  torn,  and  her  hands 
cut  and  bruised  by  ice  and  rails,  and  refractory  buckles. 
When  Amy  was  comfortably  asleep,  the  house  quiet,  and 
Mrs.  March  sitting  by  the  bed,  she  called  Jo  to  her,  and 
began  to  bind  up  the  hurt  hands. 

“  Are  you  sure  she  is  safe?”  whispered  Jo,  looking 
remorsefully  at  the  golden  head,  which  might  have  been 
swept  away  from  her  sight  forever  under  the  treacherous 
ice. 

“  Quite  safe,  dear;  she  is  not  hurt,  and  won’t  even 
take  cold,  I  think,  you  were  so  sensible  in  covering  and 
getting  her  home  quickly,”  replied  her  mother  cheer¬ 
fully. 

“Laurie  did  it  all;  I  only  let  her  go.  Mother,  if  she 
should  die,  it  would  be  my  fault”;  and  Jo  dropped 
down  beside  the  bed,  in  a  passion  of  penitent  tears, 


Jo  Meets  Apollyon  99 

telling  all  that  had  happened,  bitterly  condemning  her 
hardness  of  heart,  and  sobbing  out  her  gratitude  for  be¬ 
ing  spared  the  heavy  punishment  which  might  have  come 
upon  her. 

“It’s  my  dreadful  temper!  I  try  to  cure  it;  I  think 
I  have,  and  then  it  breaks  out  worse  than  ever.  O 
mother,  what  shall  I  do?  what  shall  I  do?”  cried  poor 
Jo,  in  despair. 

“  Watch  and  pray,  dear ;  never  get  tired  of  trying ;  and 
never  think  it  is  impossible  to  conquer  your  fault,”  said 
Mrs.  March,  drawing  the  blowzy  head  to  her  shoulder, 
and  kissing  the  wet  cheek  so  tenderly  that  Jo  cried 
harder  than  ever. 

“You  don’t  know,  you  can’t  guess  how  bad  it  is!  It 
seems  as  if  I  could  do  anything  when  I’m  in  a  passion ; 
I  get  so  savage,  I  could  hurt  any  one,  and  enjoy  it.  I ’m 
afraid  I  shall  do  something  dreadful  some  day,  and  spoil 
my  life,  and  make  everybody  hate  me.  O  mother,  help 
me,  do  help  me  !  ” 

“  I  will,  my  child,  I  will.  Don’t  cry  so^  bitterly,  but 
remember  this  day,  and  resolve,  with  all  your  soul,  that 
you  will  never  know  another  like  it.  Jo,  dear,  we  all 
have  our  temptations,  some  far  greater  than  yours,  and 
it  often  takes  us  all  our  lives  to  conquer  them.  You 
think  your  temper  is  the  worst  in  the  world ;  but  mine 
used  to  be  just  like  it.” 

“Yours,  mother?  Why,  you  are  never  angry !  ”  and, 
for  the  moment,  Jo  forgot  remorse  in  surprise. 

“  I ’ve  been  trying  to  cure  it  for  forty  years,  and  have 
only  succeeded  in  controlling  it.  I  am  angry  nearly 
every  day  of  my  life,  Jo;  but  I  have  learned  not  to  show 
it;  and  I  still  hope  to  learn  not  to  feel  it,  though  it  may 
take  me  another  forty  years  to  do  so.” 

The  patience  and  the  humility  of  the  face  she  loved  so 


xoo 


Little  Women 


well  was  a  better  lesson  to  Jo  than  the  wisest  lecture,  the 
sharpest  reproof.  She  felt  comforted  at  once  by  the 
sympathy  and  confidence  given  her;  the  knowledge  that 
her  mother  had  a  fault  like  hers,  and  tried  to  mend  it, 
made  her  own  easier  to  bear  and  strengthened  her  reso¬ 
lution  to  cure  it ;  though  forty  years  seemed  rather  a  long 
time  to  watch  and  pray,  to  a  girl  of  fifteen. 

“  Mother,  are  you  angry  when  you  fold  your  lips  tight 
together,  and  go  out  of  the  room  sometimes,  when  Aunt 
March  scolds,  or  people  worry  you?  ”  asked  Jo,  feeling 
nearer  and  dearer  to  her  mother  than  ever  before. 

“  Yes,  I  Ve  learned  to  check  the  hasty  words  that  rise 
to  my  lips  ;  and  when  I  feel  that  they  mean  to  break  out 
against  my  will,  I  just  go  away  a  minute,  and  give  myself 
a  little  shake,  for  being  so  weak  and  wicked,”  answered 
Mrs.  March,  with  a  sigh  and  a  smile,  as  she  smoothed 
and  fastened  up  Jo’s  dishevelled  hair. 

“How  did  you  learn  to  keep  still?  That  is  what 
troubles  me  —  for  the  sharp  words  fly  out  before  I  know 
what  I  ’m  about ;  and  the  more  I  say  the  worse  I  get, 
till  it’s  a  pleasure  to  hurt  people’s  feelings,  and  say 
dreadful  things.  Tell  me  how  you  do  it,  Marmee 
dear.” 

“  My  good  mother  used  to  help  me  - —  ” 

“  As  you  do  us  —  ”  interrupted  Jo,  with  a  grateful  kiss. 

“  But  I  lost  her  when  I  was  a  little  older  than  you  are, 
and  for  years  had  to  struggle  on  alone,  for  I  was  too 
proud  to  confess  my  weakness  to  any  one  else.  I  had  a 
hard  time,  Jo,  and  shed  a  good  many  bitter  tears  over 
my  failures ;  for,  in  spite  of  my  efforts,  I  never  seemed 
to  get  on.  Then  your  father  came,  and  I  was  so  happy 
that  I  found  it  easy  to  be  good.  But  by  and  by,  when 
I  had  four  little  daughters  round  me,  and  we  were  poor, 
then  the  old  trouble  began  again ;  for  I  am  not  patient 


IOI 


Jo  Meets  ApolJyon 

by  nature,  and  it  tried  me  very  much  to  see  my  children 
wanting  anything.” 

“  Poor  mother  !  what  helped  you  then?  ” 

“Your  father,  Jo.  He  never  loses  patience, — never 
doubts  or  complains,  —  but  always  hopes,  and  works  and 
waits  so  cheerfully,  that  one  is  ashamed  to  do  otherwise 
before  him.  He  helped  and  comforted  me,  and  showed 
me  that  I  must  try  to  practise  all  the  virtues  I  would 
have  my  little  girls  possess,  for  I  was  their  example.  It 
was  easier  to  try  for  your  sakes  than  for  my  own  ;  a 
startled  or  surprised  look  from  one  of  you,  when  I  spoke 
sharply,  rebuked  me  more  than  any  words  could  have 
done ;  and  the  love,  respect,  and  confidence  of  my 
children  was  the  sweetest  reward  I  could  receive  for 
my  efforts  to  be  the  woman  I  would  have  them  copy.” 

“  O  mother,  if  I ’m  ever  half  as  good  as  you,  I  shall  be 
satisfied,”  cried  Jo,  much  touched. 

“  I  hope  you  will  be  a  great  deal  better,  dear ;  but  you 
must  keep  watch  over  your  ‘  bosom  enemy,’  as  father 
calls  it,  or  it  may  sadden,  if  not  spoil  your  life.  You 
have  had  a  warning;  remember  it,  and  try  with  heart 
and  soul  to  master  this  quick  temper,  before  it  brings 
you  greater  sorrow  and  regret  than  you  have  known 
to-day.” 

“  I  will  try,  mother ;  I  truly  will.  But  you  must  help 
me,  remind  me,  and  keep  me  from  flying  out.  I  used  to 
see  father  sometimes  put  his  finger  on  his  lips,  and  look 
at  you  with  a  very  kind,  but  sober  face,  and  you  always 
folded  your  lips  tight  or  went  away :  was  he  reminding 
you  then?  ”  asked  Jo  softly. 

“  Yes  ;  I  asked  him  to  help  me  so,  and  he  never  forgot 
it,  but  saved  me  from  many  a  sharp  word  by  that  little 
gesture  and  kind  look.” 

Jo  saw  that  her  mother’s  eyes  filled  and  her  lips  trem- 


102 


Little  Women 


bled,  as  she  spoke ;  and,  fearing  that  she  had  said  too 
much,  she  whispered  anxiously,  “  Was  it  wrong  to  watch 
you,  and  to  speak  of  it?  I  did  n’t  mean  to  be  rude,  but 
it ’s  so  comfortable  to  say  all  I  think  to  you,  and  feel  so 
safe  and  happy  here.” 

“  My  Jo,  you  may  say  anything  to  your  mother,  for  it 
is  my  greatest  happiness  and  pride  to  feel  that  my  girls 
confide  in  me,  and  know  how  much  I  love  them.” 

“  I  thought  I ’d  grieved  you.” 

“No,  dear;  but  speaking  of  father  reminded  me 
how  much  I  miss  him,  how  much  I  owe  him,  and  how 
faithfully  I  should  watch  and  work  to  keep  his  little 
daughters  safe  and  good  for  him.” 

“  Yet  you  told  him  to  go,  mother,  and  did  n’t  cry  when 
he  went,  and  never  complain  now,  or  seem  as  if  you 
needed  any  help,”  said  Jo,  wondering. 

“  I  gave  my  best  to  the  country  I  love,  and  kept  my 
tears  till  he  was  gone.  Why  shoyld  I  complain,  when 
we  both  have  merely  done  our  duty  and  will  surely  be 
the  happier  for  it  in  the  end?  If  I  don’t  seem  to  need 
help,  it  is  because  I  have  a  better  friend,  even  than  father, 
to  comfort  and  sustain  me.  My  child,  the  troubles  and 
temptations  of  your  life  are  beginning,  and  may  be 
many ;  but  you  can  overcome  and  outlive  them  all  if 
you  learn  to  feel  the  strength  and  tenderness  of  your 
Heavenly  Father  as  you  do  that  of  your  earthly  one. 
The  more  you  love  and  trust  Him,  the  nearer  you  will 
feel  to  Him,  and  the  less  you  will  depend  on  human 
power  and  wisdom.  His  love  and  care  never  tire  or 
change,  can  never  be  taken  from  you,  but  may  become 
the  source  of  lifelong  peace,  happiness,  and  strength. 
Believe  this  heartily,  and  go  to  God  with  all  your  little 
cares,  and  hopes,  and  sins,  and  sorrows,  as  freely  and 
confidingly  as  you  come  to  your  mother.” 


Meg  Goes  to  Vanity  Fair  103 

Jo’s  only  answer  was  to  hold  her  mother  close,  and,  in 
the  silence  which  followed,  the  sincerest  prayer  she  had 
ever  prayed  left  her  heart  without  words  ;  for  in  that  sad, 
yet  happy  hour,  she  had  learned  not  only  the  bitterness 
of  remorse  and  despair,  but  the  sweetness  of  self-denial 
and  self-control ;  and,  led  by  her  mother’s  hand,  she  had 
drawn  nearer  to  the  Friend  who  welcomes  every  child 
with  a  love  stronger  than  that  of  any  father,  tenderer  than 
that  of  any  mother. 

Amy  stirred,  and  sighed  in  her  sleep  ;  and,  as  if  eager 
to  begin  at  once  to  mend  her  fault,  Jo  looked  up  with  an 
expression  on  her  face  which  it  had  never  worn  before. 

“  I  let  the  sun  go  down  on  my  anger ;  I  would  n’t 
forgive  her,  and  to-day,  if  it  had  n’t  been  for  Laurie,  it 
might  have  been  too  late  !  How  could  I  be  so  wicked  ?  ” 
said  Jo,  half  aloud,  as  she  leaned  over  her  sister,  softly 
stroking  the  wet  hair  scattered  on  the  pillow. 

As  if  she  heard,  Amy  opened  her  eyes,  and  held  out 
her  arms,  with  a  smile  that  went  straight  to  Jo’s  heart. 
Neither  said  a  word,  but  they  hugged  one  another  close, 
in  spite  of  the  blankets,  and  everything  was  forgiven 
and  forgotten  in  one  hearty  kiss. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MEG  GOES  TO  VANITY  FAIR 

“  TT  DO  think  it  was  the  most  fortunate  thing  in  the 
I  world  that  those  children  should  have  the  measles 
M  just  now,”  said  Meg,  one  April  day,  as  she  stood 
packing  the  “  go  abroady  ”  trunk  in  her  room,  surrounded 
by  her  sisters. 

“  And  so  nice  of  Annie  Moffat  not  to  forget  her  prom- 


Little  Women 


104 

ise.  A  whole  fortnight  of  fun  will  be  regularly  splendid/' 
replied  Jo,  looking  like  a  windmill,  as  she  folded  skirts 
with  her  long  arms. 

“And  such  lovely  weather;  I’m  so  glad  of  that,” 
added  Beth,  tidily  sorting  neck  and  hair  ribbons  in  her 

J  o 

best  box,  lent  for  the  great  occasion. 

“  I  wish  I  was  going  to  have  a  fine  time,  and  wear  all 
these  nice  things,”  said  Amy,  with  her  mouth  full  of  pins, 
as  she  artistically  replenished  her  sister’s  cushion. 

“  I  wish  you  were  all  going;  but,  as  you  can’t,  I  shall 
keep  my  adventures  to  tell  you  when  I  come  back.  I  ’m 
sure  it ’s  the  least  I  can  do,  when  you  have  been  so  kind, 
lending  me  things,  and  helping  me  get  ready,”  said  Meg, 
glancing  round  the  room  at  the  very  simple  outfit,  which 
seemed  nearly  perfect  in  their  eyes. 

“What  did  mother  give  you  out  of  the  treasure-box?  ” 
asked  Amy,  who  had  not  been  present  at  the  opening 
of  a  certain  cedar  chest,  in  which  Mrs.  March  kept  a  few 
relics  of  past  splendor,  as  gifts  for  her  girls  when  the 
proper  time  came. 

“  A  pair  of  silk  stockings,  that  pretty  carved  fan,  and 
a  lovely  blue  sash.  I  wanted  the  violet  silk  ;  but  there 
is  n’t  time  to  make  it  over,  so  I  must  be  contented  with 
my  old  tarlatan.” 

“  It  will  look  nicely  over  my  new  muslin  skirt,  and  the 
sash  will  set  it  off"  beautifully.  I  wish  I  had  n’t  smashed 
my  coral  bracelet,  for  you  might  have  had  it,”  said  Jo, 
who  loved  to  give  and  lend,  but  whose  possessions  were 
usually  too  dilapidated  to  be  of  much  use. 

“  There  is  a  lovely  old-fashioned  pearl  set  in  the 
treasure-box  ;  but  mother  said  real  flowers  were  the  pret¬ 
tiest  ornament  for  a  young  girl,  and  Laurie  promised  to 
send  me  all  I  want,”  replied  Meg.  “Now,  let  me  see; 
there’s  my  new  gray  walking-suit — just  curl  up  the 


Meg  Goes  to  Vanity  Fair  105 

feather  in  my  hat,  Beth, — then  my  poplin,  for  Sun* 
day,  and  the  small  party,  —  it  looks  heavy  for  spring, 
doesn’t  it?  The  violet  silk  would  be  so  nice;  oh, 
dear !  ” 

“  Never  mind ;  you ’ve  got  the  tarlatan  for  the  big 
party,  and  you  always  look  like  an  angel  in  white,”  said 
Amy,  brooding  over  the  little  store  of  finery  in  which  her 
soul  delighted. 

“It  isn’t  low-necked,  and  it  doesn’t  sweep  enough, 
but  it  will  have  to  do.  My  blue  house-dress  looks  so 
well,  turned  and  freshly  trimmed,  that  I  feel  as  if  I ’d  got 
a  new  one.  My  silk  sacque  is  n't  a  bit  the  fashion,  and 
my  bonnet  does  n’t  look  like  Sallie’s  ;  I  did  n’t  like  to  say 
anything,  but  I  was  sadly  disappointed  in  my  umbrella. 
I  told  mother  black,  with  a  white  handle,  but  she  forgot, 
and  bo  ught  a  green  one,  with  a  yellowish  handle.  It ’s 
strong  and  neat,  so  I  ought  not  to  complain,  but  I  know 
I  shall  feel  ashamed  of  it  beside  Annie’s  silk  one  with  a 
gold  top,”  sighed  Meg,  surveying  the  little  umbrella  with 
great  disfavor. 

“  Change  it,”  advised  Jo. 

“  I  won’t  be  so  silly,  or  hurt  Marmee’s  feelings,  when 
she  took  so  much  pains  to  get  my  things.  It ’s  a  non¬ 
sensical  notion  of  mine,  and  I  ’m  not  going  to  give  up  to 
it.  My  silk  stockings  and  two  pairs  of  new  gloves  are 
my  comfort.  You  are  a  dear,  to  lend  me  yours,  Jo.  I 
feel  so  rich,  and  sort  of  elegant,  with  two  new  pairs,  and 
the  old  ones  cleaned  up  for  common ;  ”  and  Meg  took  a 
refreshing  peep  at  her  glove-box. 

“  Annie  Moffat  has  blue  and  pink  bows  on  her  night¬ 
caps ;  would  you  put  some  on  mine?”  she  asked,  as 
Beth  brought  up  a  pile  of  snowy  muslins,  fresh  from 
Hannah’s  hands. 

“  No,  I  would  n’t;  for  the  smart  caps  won’t  match  the 


io6 


Little  Women 


plain  gowns,  without  any  trimming  on  them.  Poor  folks 
should  n’t  rig,”  said  Jo  decidedly. 

“  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  be  happy  enough  to  have 
real  lace  on  my  clothes,  and  bows  on  my  caps?  ”  said 
Meg  impatiently. 

“You  said  the  other  day  that  you’d  be  perfectly 
happy  if  you  could  only  go  to  Annie  Moffat’s,”  observed 
Beth,  in  her  quiet  way. 

“  So  I  did  !  Well,  I  am  happy,  and  I  ivorit  fret;  but 
it  does  seem  as  if  the  more  one  gets  the  more  one  wants, 
doesn’t  it?  There,  now,  the  trays  are  ready,  and  every¬ 
thing  in  but  my  ball-dress,  which  I  shall  leave  for  mother 
to  pack,”  said  Meg,  cheering  up,  as  she  glanced  from  the 
half-filled  trunk  to  the  many-times  pressed  and  mended 
white  tarlatan,  which  she  called  her  “  ball-dress,”  with 
an  important  air. 

The  next  day  was  fine,  and  Meg  departed,  in  style,  for 
a  fortnight  of  novelty  and  pleasure.  Mrs.  March  had 
consented  to  the  visit  rather  reluctantly,  fearing  that 
Margaret  would  come  back  more  discontented  than  she 
went.  But  she  had  begged  so  hard,  and  Sallie  had 
promised  to  take  good  care  of  her,  and  a  little  pleasure 
seemed  so  delightful  after  a  winter  of  irksome  work,  that 
the  mother  yielded,  and  the  daughter  went  to  take  her 
first  taste  of  fashionable  life. 

The  Moffats  were  very  fashionable,  and  simple  Meg 
was  rather  daunted,  at  first,  by  the  splendor  of  the  house 
and  the  elegance  of  its  occupants.  But  they  were  kindly 
people,  in  spite  of  the  frivolous  life  they  led,  and  soon 
put  their  guest  at  her  ease.  Perhaps  Meg  felt,  without 
understanding  why,  that  they  were  not  particularly  culti¬ 
vated  or  intelligent  people,  and  that  all  their  gilding  could 
not  quite  conceal  the  ordinary  material  of  which  they 
were  made.  It  certainly  was  agreeable  to  fare  sumptiv 


Meg  Goes  to  Vanity  Fair  107 

ously,  drive  in  a  fine  carriage,  wear  her  best  frock  every 
day,  and  do  nothing  but  enjoy  herself.  It  suited  her 
exactly ;  and  soon  she  began  to  imitate  the  manners  and 
conversation  of  those  about  her  ;  to  put  on  little  airs  and 
graces,  use  French  phrases,  crimp  her  hair,  take  in  her 
dresses,  and  talk  about  the  fashions  as  well  as  she  could. 
The  more  she  saw  of  Annie  Moffat’s  pretty  things,  the 
more  she  envied  her,  and  sighed  to  be  rich.  Home  now 
looked  bare  and  dismal  as  she  thought  of  it,  work  grew 
harder  than  ever,  and  she  felt  that  she  was  a  very  desti¬ 
tute  and  much-injured  girl,  in  spite  of  the  new  gloves 
and  silk  stockings. 

She  had  not  much  time  for  repining,  however,  for  the 
three  young  girls  were  busily  employed  in  “  having  a 
good  time.”  They  shopped,  walked,  rode,  and  called 
all  day;  went  to  theatres  and  operas,  or  frolicked  at 
home  in  the  evening;  for  Annie  had  many  friends,  and 
knew  how  to  entertain  them.  Her  older  sisters  were 
very  fine  young  ladies,  and  one  was  engaged,  which  was 
extremely  interesting  and  romantic,  Meg  thought.  Mr. 
Moffat  was  a  fat,  jolly  old  gentleman,  who  knew  her 
father;  and  Mrs.  Moffat,  a  fat,  jolly  old  lady,  who  took 
as  great  a  fancy  to  Meg  as  her  daughter  had  done.  Every 
one  petted  her;  and  “  Daisy,”  as  they  called  her,  was 
in  a  fair  way  to  have  her  head  turned. 

When  the  evening  for  the  “small  party”  came,  she 
found  that  the  poplin  would  n’t  do  at  all,  for  the  other 
girls  were  putting  on  thin  dresses,  and  making  themselves 
I  very  fine  indeed  ;  so  out  came  the  tarlatan,  looking  older, 
limper,  and  shabbier  than  ever  beside  Sallie’s  crisp  new 
one.  Meg  saw  the  girls  glance  at  it  and  then  at  one 
another,  and  her  cheeks  began  to  burn,  for,  with  all  her 
gentleness,  she  was  very  proud.  No  one  said  a  word 
about  it,  but  Sallie  offered  to  dress  her  hair,  and  Annie 


io8 


Little  Women 


to  tie  her  sash,  and  Belle,  the  engaged  sister,  praised  hei 
white  arms  ;  but  in  their  kindness  Meg  saw  only  pity  for 
her  poverty,  and  her  heart  felt  very  heavy  as  she  stood 
by  herself,  while  the  others  laughed,  chattered,  and  flew 
about  like  gauzy  butterflies.  The  hard,  bitter  feeling  was 
getting  pretty  bad,  when  the  maid  brought  in  a  box  of 
flowers.  Before  she  could  speak,  Annie  had  the  cover 
off,  and  all  were  exclaiming  at  the  lovely  roses,  heath, 
and  fern  within. 

“  It ’s  for  Belle,  of  course ;  George  always  sends  her 
some,  but  these  are  altogether  ravishing/’  cried  Annie, 
with  a  great  sniff. 

“  They  are  for  Miss  March,  the  man  said.  And  here  ’s 
a  note,”  put  in  the  maid,  holding  it  to  Meg. 

“  What  fun  !  Who  are  they  from?  Did  n’t  know  you 
had  a  lover,”  cried  the  girls,  fluttering  about  Meg  in  a 
high  state  of  curiosity  and  surprise. 

“  The  note  is  from  mother,  and  the  flowers  from 
Laurie,”  said  Meg  simply,  yet  much  gratified  that  he  had 
not  forgotten  her. 

“  Oh,  indeed  !  ”  said  Annie,  with  a  funny  look,  as  Meg 
slipped  the  note  into  her  pocket,  as  a  sort  of  talisman 
against  envy,  vanity,  and  false  pride ;  for  the  few  loving 
words  had  done  her  good,  and  the  flowers  cheered  her 
up  by  their  beauty. 

Feeling  almost  happy  again,  she  laid  by  a  few  ferns 
and  roses  for  herself,  and  quickly  made  up  the  rest  in 
dainty  bouquets  for  the  breasts,  hair,  or  skirts  of  her 
friends,  offering  them  so  prettily  that  Clara,  the  elder 
sister,  told  her  she  was  “  the  sweetest  little  thing  she 
ever  saw ;  ”  and  they  looked  quite  charmed  with  her 
small  attention.  Somehow  the  kind  act  finished  her 
despondency;  and  when  all  the  rest  went  to  show  them¬ 
selves  to  Mrs.  Moffat,  she  saw  a  happy,  bright-eyed  face 


Meg  Goes  to  Vanity  Fair  109 

in  the  mirror,  as  she  laid  her  ferns  against  her  rippling 
hair,  and  fastened  the  roses  in  the  dress  that  did  n’t  strike 
her  as  so  very  shabby  now. 

She  enjoyed  herself  very  much  that  evening,  for  she 
danced  to  her  heart’s  content;  every  one  was  very  kind, 
and  she  had  three  compliments.  Annie  made  her  sing, 
and  some  one  said  she  had  a  remarkably  fine  voice; 
Major  Lincoln  asked  who  “  the  fresh  little  girl,  with 
the  beautiful  eyes,”  was;  and  Mr.  Moffat  insisted  on 
dancing  with  her,  because  she  “  did  n’t  dawdle,  but 
had  some  spring  in  her,”  as  he  gracefully  expressed 
it.  So,  altogether,  she  had  a  very  nice  time,  till  she 
overheard  a  bit  of  a  conversation,  which  disturbed  her 
extremely.  She  was  sitting  just  inside  the  conserva¬ 
tory,  waiting  for  her  partner  to  bring  her  an  ice,  when 
she  heard  a  voice  ask,  on  the  other  side  of  the  flowery 
wall,  — - 

“  How  old  is  he?” 

“  Sixteen  or  seventeen,  I  should  say,”  replied  another 
voice. 

“  It  would  be  a  grand  thing  for  one  of  those  girls, 
wouldn’t  it?  Sallie  says  they  are  very  intimate  now, 
and  the  old  man  quite  dotes  on  them.” 

“  Mrs.  M.  has  made  her  plans,  I  dare  say,  and  will 
play  her  cards  well,  early  as  it  is.  The  girl  evidently 
doesn’t  think  of  it  yet,”  said  Mrs.  Moffat. 

“  She  told  that  fib  about  her  mamma,  as  if  she  did 
know,  and  colored  up  when  the  flowers  came,  quite 
prettily.  Poor  thing !  she  ’d  be  so  nice  if  she  was  only 
got  up  in  style.  Do  you  think  she  ’d  be  offended  if  we 
offered  to  lend  her  a  dress  for  Thursday?  ”  asked  another 
voice. 

“  She ’s  proud,  but  I  don’t  believe  she ’d  mind,  for 
that  dowdy  tarlatan  is  all  she  has  got.  She  may  tear  it 


i  i  o  Little  Women 

to-night,  and  that  will  be  a  good  excuse  for  offering  a 
decent  one.” 

“We  ’ll  see.  I  shall  ask  young  Laurence,  as  a  com¬ 
pliment  to  her,  and  we  ’ll  have  fun  about  it  afterward.” 

Here  Meg’s  partner  appeared,  to  find  her  looking 
much  flushed  and  rather  agitated.  She  was  proud,  and 
her  pride  was  useful  just  then,  for  it  helped  her  hide  her 
mortification,  anger,  and  disgust  at  what  she  had  just 
heard ;  for,  innocent  and  unsuspicious  as  she  was,  she 
could  not  help  understanding  the  gossip  of  her  friends. 
She  tried  to  forget  it,  but  could  not,  and  kept  repeating 
to  herself,  “  Mrs.  M.  has  made  her  plans,”  “  that  fib  about 
her  mamma,”  and  “  dowdy  tarlatan,”  till  she  was  ready 
to  cry,  and  rush  home  to  tell  her  troubles  and  ask  for 
advice.  As  that  was  impossible,  she  did  her  best  to 
seem  gay;  and,  being  rather  excited,  she  succeeded  so 
well  that  no  one  dreamed  what  an  effort  she  was  making. 
She  was  very  glad  when  it  was  all  over,  and  she  was  quiet 
in  her  bed,  where  she  could  think  and  wonder  and  fume 
till  her  head  ached  and  her  hot  cheeks  were  cooled  by  a 
few  natural  tears.  Those  foolish,  yet  well-meant  words, 
had  opened  a  new  world  to  Meg,  and  much  disturbed  the 
peace  of  the  old  one,  in  which,  till  now,  she  had  lived  as 
happily  as  a  child.  Her  innocent  friendship  with  Laurie 
was  spoilt  by  the  silly  speeches  she  had  overheard ;  her 
faith  in  her  mother  was  a  little  shaken  by  the  worldly 
plans  attributed  to  her  by  Mrs.  Moffat,  who  judged  others 
by  herself ;  and  the  sensible  resolution  to  be  contented 
with  the  simple  wardrobe  which  suited  a  poor  man’s 
daughter,  was  weakened  by  the  unnecessary  pity  of  girls 
who  thought  a  shabby  dress  one  of  the  greatest  calamities 
under  heaven. 

Poor  Meg  had  a  restless  night,  and  got  up  heavy¬ 
eyed,  unhappy,  half  resentful  toward  her  friends,  and  half 


Meg  Goes  to  Vanity  Fair  hi 

ashamed  of  herself  for  not  speaking  out  frankly,  and 
setting  everything  right.  Everybody  dawdled  that  morn¬ 
ing,  and  it  was  noon  before  the  girls  found  energy  enough 
even  to  take  up  their  worsted  work.  Something  in  the 
manner  of  her  friends  struck  Meg  at  once ;  they  treated 
her  with  more  respect,  she  thought ;  took  quite  a  tender 
interest  in  what  she  said,  and  looked  at  her  with  eyes 
that  plainly  betrayed  curiosity.  All  this  surprised  and 
flattered  her,  though  she  did  not  understand  it  till  Miss 
Belle  looked  up  from  her  writing,  and  said,  with  a  senti¬ 
mental  air,  — 

“  Daisy,  dear,  I ’ve  sent  an  invitation  to  your  friend, 
Mr.  Laurence,  for  Thursday.  We  should  like  to  know 
him,  and  it ’s  only  a  proper  compliment  to  you.” 

Meg  colored,  but  a  mischievous  fancy  to  tease  the 
girls  made  her  reply  demurely,  — 

“  You  are  very  kind,  but  I ’m  afraid  he  won’t  come.” 

“  Why  not,  cherie  ?”  asked  Miss  Belle. 

“  He ’s  too  old.” 

“My  child,  what  do  you  mean?  What  is  his  age,  I 
beg  to  know !  ”  cried  Miss  Clara. 

“  Nearly  seventy,  I  believe,”  answered  Meg,  counting 
stitches,  to  hide  the  merriment  in  her  eyes. 

“  You  sly  creature  !  Of  course  we  meant  the  young 
man,”  exclaimed  Miss  Belle,  laughing. 

“  There  is  n’t  any ;  Laurie  is  only  a  little  boy,”  and 
Meg  laughed  also  at  the  queer  look  which  the  sisters 
exchanged  as  she  thus  described  her  supposed  lover. 

“  About  your  age,”  Nan  said. 

“Nearer  my  sister  Jo’s;  I  am  seventeen  in  August,” 
returned  Meg,  tossing  her  head. 

“  It ’s  very  nice  of  him  to  send  you  flowers,  is  n’t  it?  M 
said  Annie,  looking  wise  about  nothing. 

“Yes,  he  often  does,  to  all  of  us;  for  their  house  is 


1X2 


Little  Women 


full,  and  we  are  so  fond  of  them.  My  mother  and  old 
Mr.  Laurence  are  friends,  you  know,  so  it  is  quite  natural 
that  we  children  should  play  together;  ”  and  Meg  hoped 
they  would  say  no  more. 

“  It’s  evident  Daisy  isn’t  out  yet,”  said  Miss  Clara  to 
Belle,  with  a  nod. 

“  Quite  a  pastoral  state  of  innocence  all  round,”  re¬ 
turned  Miss  Belle,  with  a  shrug. 

“  I ’m  going  out  to  get  some  little  matters  for  my  girls  ; 
can  I  do  anything  for  you,  young  ladies?”  asked  Mrs. 
Moffat,  lumbering  in,  like  an  elephant,  in  silk  and  lace. 

“  No,  thank  you,  ma’am,”  replied  Sallie.  “  I ’ve  got  my 
new  pink  silk  for  Thursday,  and  don’t  want  a  thing.” 

“Nor  I,  —  ”  began  Meg,  but  stopped,  because  it 
occurred  to  her  that  she  did  want  several  things,  and 
could  not  have  them. 

“  What  shall  you  wear?  ”  asked  Sallie. 

“  My  old  white  one  again,  if  I  can  mend  it  fit  to  be 
seen;  it  got  sadly  torn  last  night,”  said  Meg,  trying  to 
speak  quite  easily,  but  feeling  very  uncomfortable. 

“  Why  don’t  you  send  home  for  another?  ”  said  Sallie, 
who  was  not  an  observing  young  lady. 

“  I  have  n’t  got  any  other.”  It  cost  Meg  an  effort  to 
say  that,  but  Sallie  did  not  see  it,  and  exclaimed,  in 
amiable  surprise,  — 

“Only  that?  How  funny  —  ”  She  did  not  finish  her 
speech,  for  Belle  shook  her  head  at  her,  and  broke  in, 
saying  kindly,  — 

“  Not  at  all ;  where  is  the  use  of  having  a  lot  of 
dresses  when  she  is  n’t  out?  There ’s  no  need  of  send¬ 
ing  home,  Daisy,  even  if  you  had  a  dozen,  for  I ’ve  got 
a  sweet  blue  silk  laid  away,  which  I ’ve  outgrown,  and 
you  shall  wear  it,  to  please  me,  won’t  you,  dear?” 

“You  are  very  kind,  but  I  don’t  mind  my  old  dress, 


Meg  Goes  to  Vanity  Fair  113 

if  you  don’t;  it  does  well  enough  for  a  little  girl  like 
me,”  said  Meg. 

“  Now  do  let  me  please  myself  by  dressing  you  up  in 
style.  I  admire  to  do  it,  and  you ’d  be  a  regular  little 
beauty,  with  a  touch  here  and  there.  I  shan’t  let  any 
one  see  you  till  you  are  done,  and  then  we  ’ll  burst  upon 
them  like  Cinderella  and  her  godmother,  going  to  the 
ball,”  said  Belle,  in  her  persuasive  tone. 

Meg  couldn’t  refuse  the  offer  so  kindly  made,  for  a 
desire  to  see  if  she  would  be  “  a  little  beauty  ”  after 
touching  up,  caused  her  to  accept,  and  forget  all  her 
former  uncomfortable  feelings  towards  the  Moffats. 

On  the  Thursday  evening,  Belle  shut  herself  up  with 
her  maid ;  and,  between  them,  they  turned  Meg  into  a 
fine  lady.  They  crimped  and  curled  her  hair,  they  pol¬ 
ished  her  neck  and  arms  with  some  fragrant  powder, 
touched  her  lips  with  coralline  salve,  to  make  them 
redder,  and  Hortense  would  have  added  “  a  soiipqon  of 
rouge,”  if  Meg  had  not  rebelled.  They  laced  her  into 
a  sky-blue  dress,  which  was  so  tight  she  could  hardly 
breathe,  and  so  low  in  the  neck  that  modest  Meg  blushed 
at  herself  in  the  mirror.  A  set  of  silver  filagree  was 
added,  bracelets,  necklace,  brooch,  and  even  ear-rings, 
for  Hortense  tied  them  on,  with  a  bit  of  pink  silk,  which 
did  not  show.  A  cluster  of  tea-rosebuds  at  the  bosom, 
and  a  ruche ,  reconciled  Meg  to  the  display  of  her  pretty 
white  shoulders,  and  a  pair  of  high-heeled  blue  silk  boots 
satisfied  the  last  wish  of  her  heart.  A  laced  handker¬ 
chief,  a  plumy  fan,  and  a  bouquet  in  a  silver  holder  fin¬ 
ished  her  off ;  and  Miss  Belle  surveyed  her  with  the 
satisfaction  of  a  little  girl  with  a  newly  dressed  doll. 

“Mademoiselle  is  charmante,  tres  jolie,  is  she  not?” 
cried  Hortense,  clasping  her  hands  in  an  affected  rap¬ 
ture. 


8 


Little  Women 


1 14 

“  Come  and  show  yourself,”  said  Miss  Belle,  leading 
the  way  to  the  room  where  the  others  were  waiting. 

As  Meg  went  rustling  after,  with  her  long  skirts  trail¬ 
ing,  her  ear-rings  tinkling,  her  curls  waving,  and  her 
heart  beating,  she  felt  as  if  her  “  fun  ”  had  really  begun  at 
last,  for  the  mirror  had  plainly  told  her  that  she  was  “  a 
little  beauty.”  Her  friends  repeated  the  pleasing  phrase 
enthusiastically;  and,  for  several  minutes,  she  stood,  like 
the  jackdaw  in  the  fable,  enjoying  her  borrowed  plumes, 
while  the  rest  chattered  like  a  party  of  magpies. 

“While  I  dress,  do  you  drill  her,  Nan,  in  the  manage¬ 
ment  of  her  skirt,  and  those  French  heels,  or  she  will 
trip  herself  up.  Take  your  silver  butterfly,  and  catch  up 
that  long  curl  on  the  left  side  of  her  head,  Clara,  and 
don’t  any  of  you  disturb  the  charming  work  of  my 
hands,”  said  Belle,  as  she  hurried  away,  looking  well 
pleased  with  her  success. 

“  I ’m  afraid  to  go  down,  I  feel  so  queer  and  stiff  and 
half-dressed,”  said  Meg  to  Sallie,  as  the  bell  rang,  and 
Mrs.  Moffat  sent  to  ask  the  young  ladies  to  appear  at 
once. 

“  You  don’t  look  a  bit  like  yourself,  but  you  are  very 
nice.  I ’m  nowhere  beside  you,  for  Belle  has  heaps  of 
taste,  and  you  ’re  quite  French,  I  assure  you.  Let  your 
flowers  hang;  don’t  be  so  careful  of  them,  and  be  sure 
you  don’t  trip,”  returned  Sallie,  trying  not  to  care  that 
Meg  was  prettier  than  herself. 

Keeping  that  warning  carefully  in  mind,  Margaret  got 
safely  down  stairs,  and  sailed  into  the  drawing-rooms, 
where  the  Moffats  and  a  few  early  guests  were  assem¬ 
bled.  She  very  soon  discovered  that  there  is  a  charm 
about  fine  clothes  which  attracts  a  certain  class  of 
people,  and  secures  their  respect.  Several  young 
ladies,  who  had  taken  no  notice  of  her  before,  were  very 


Meg  Goes  to  Vanity  Fair  115 

affectionate  all  of  a  sudden ;  several  young  gentlemen, 
who  had  only  stared  at  her  at  the  other  party,  now  not 
only  stared,  but  asked  to  be  introduced,  and  said  all 
manner  of  foolish  but  agreeable  things  to  her;  and 
several  old  ladies,  who  sat  on  sofas,  and  criticised  the 
rest  of  the  party,  inquired  who  she  was,  with  an  air  of 
interest.  She  heard  Mrs.  Moffat  reply  to  one  of 
them,  — 

“  Daisy  March  —  father  a  colonel  in  the  army  —  one 
of  our  first  families,  but  reverses  of  fortune,  you  know; 
intimate  friends  of  the  Laurences ;  sweet  creature,  I  as¬ 
sure  you ;  my  Ned  is  quite  wild  about  her.” 

“  Dear  me  !  ”  said  the  old  lady,  putting  up  her  glass 
for  another  observation  of  Meg,  who  tried  to  look  as  if 
she  had  not  heard,  and  been  rather  shocked  at  Mrs. 
Moffat’s  fibs. 

The  “  queer  feeling  ”  did  not  pass  away,  but  she  imag¬ 
ined  herself  acting  the  new  part  of  fine  lady,  and  so  got 
on  pretty  well,  though  the  tight  dress  gave  her  a  side- 
ache,  the  train  kept  getting  under  her  feet,  and  she  was 
in  constant  fear  lest  her  ear-rings  should  fly  off,  and  get 
lost  or  broken.  She  was  flirting  her  fan,  and  laughing 
at  the  feeble  jokes  of  a  young  gentleman  who  tried  to  be 
witty,  when  she  suddenly  stopped  laughing,  and  looked 
confused;  for,  just  opposite,  she  saw  Laurie.  He  was 
staring  at  her  with  undisguised  surprise,  and  disap¬ 
proval  also,  she  thought;  for,  though  he  bowed  and 
smiled,  yet  something  in  his  honest  eyes  made  her 
blush,  and  wish  she  had  her  old  dress  on.  To  complete 
her  confusion,  she  saw  Belle  nudge  Annie,  and  both 
glance  from  her  to  Laurie,  who,  she  was  happy  to  see, 
looked  unusually  boyish  and  shy. 

“  Silly  creatures,  to  put  such  thoughts  into  my  head ! 
I  won’t  care  for  it,  or  let  it  change  me  a  bit,”  thought 


116  Little  Women 

Meg,  and  rustled  across  the  room  to  shake  hands  with 
her  friend. 

“  I  ’m  glad  you  came,  I  was  afraid  you  would  n’t,” 
she  said,  with  her  most  grown-up  air. 

“  Jo  wanted  me  to  come,  and  tell  her  how  you  looked, 
so  I  did ;  ”  answered  Laurie,  without  turning  his  eyes 
upon  her,  though  he  half  smiled  at  her  maternal  tone. 

“  What  shall  you  tell  her  ?  ”  asked  Meg,  full  of  curiosity 
to  know  his  opinion  of  her,  yet  feeling  ill  at  ease  with 
him,  for  the  first  time. 

“  I  shall  say  I  did  n’t  know  you ;  for  you  look  so 
grown-up,  and  unlike  yourself,  I ’m  quite  afraid  of  you,” 
he  said,  fumbling  at  his  glove-button. 

“  How  absurd  of  you  !  The  girls  dressed  me  up  for 
fun,  and  I  rather  like  it.  Wouldn't  Jo  stare  if  she  saw 
me?  ”  said  Meg,  bent  on  making  him  say  whether  he 
thought  her  improved  or  not. 

“  Yes,  I  think  she  wrould,”  returned  Laurie  gravely. 

“  Don’t  you  like  me  so?  ”  asked  Meg. 

“  No,  I  don’t,”  was  the  blunt  reply. 

“Why  not?  ”  in  an  anxious  tone. 

He  glanced  at  her  frizzled  head,  bare  shoulders,  and 
fantastically  trimmed  dress,  with  an  expression  that 
abashed  her  more  than  his  answer,  which  had  not  a  par¬ 
ticle  of  his  usual  politeness  about  it. 

“  I  don’t  like  fuss  and  feathers.” 

That  was  altogether  too  much  from  a  lad  younger  than 
herself;  and  Meg  walked  away,  saying  petulantly,  — 

“You  are  the  rudest  boy  I  ever  saw.” 

Feeling  very  much  ruffled,  she  went  and  stood  at  a 
quiet  window,  to  cool  her  cheeks,  for  the  tight  dress 
gave  her  an  uncomfortably  brilliant  color.  As  she 
stood  there,  Major  Lincoln  passed  by;  and,  a  minute 
after,  she  heard  him  saying  to  his  mother,  — 


Meg  Goes  to  Vanity  F'air  117 

“  They  are  making  a  fool  of  that  little  girl ;  I  wanted 
you  to  see  her,  but  they  have  spoilt  her  entirely;  she ’s 
nothing  but  a  doll,  to-night.” 

“  Oh,  dear  !  ”  sighed  Meg;  “  I  wish  I  ’d  been  sensible, 
and  worn  my  own  things;  then  I  should  not  have  dis¬ 
gusted  other  people,  or  felt  so  uncomfortable  and 
ashamed  myself.” 

She  leaned  her  forehead  on  the  cool  pane,  and  stood 
half  hidden  by  the  curtains,  never  minding  that  her 
favorite  waltz  had  begun,  till  some  one  touched  her; 
and,  turning,  she  saw  Laurie,  looking  penitent,  as  he 
said,  with  his  very  best  bow,  and  his  hand  out,  — 

“  Please  forgive  my  rudeness,  and  come  and  dance 
with  me.” 

“  I  ’m  afraid  it  will  be  too  disagreeable  to  you,”  said 
Meg,  trying  to  look  offended,  and  failing  entirely. 

“  Not  a  bit  of  it;  I ’m  dying  to  do  it.  Come,  I  ’ll  be 
good  ;  I  don’t  like  your  gown,  but  I  do  think  you  are  — 
just  splendid;”  and  he  waved  his  hands,  as  if  words 
failed  to  express  his  admiration. 

Meg  smiled  and  relented,  and  whispered,  as  they 
stood  waiting  to  catch  the  time, — 

“Take  care  my  skirt  don’t  trip  you  up;  it’s  the 
plague  of  my  life,  and  I  was  a  goose  to  wear  it.” 

“  Pin  it  round  your  neck,  and  then  it  will  be  useful,” 
said  Laurie,  looking  down  at  the  little  blue  boots,  which 
he  evidently  approved  of. 

Away  they  went,  fleetly  and  gracefully ;  for,  having 
practised  at  home,  they  were  well  matched,  and  the 
blithe  young  couple  were  a  pleasant  sight  to  see,  as 
they  twirled  merrily  round  and  round,  feeling  more 
friendly  than  ever  after  their  small  tiff. 

“Laurie,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor;  will  you?” 
said  Meg,  as  he  stood  fanning  her,  when  her  breath 


1 1 8  Little  Women 

gave  out,  which  it  did  very  soon,  though  she  would  not 
own  why. 

“  Won’t  I !  ”  said  Laurie,  with  alacrity. 

“  Please  don’t  tell  them  at  home  about  my  dress  to¬ 
night.  They  won’t  understand  the  joke,  and  it  will 
worry  mother.” 

“  Then  why  did  you  do  it  ?  ”  said  Laurie’s  eyes,  so 
plainly  that  Meg  hastily  added,  — 

“  I  shall  tell  them,  myself,  all  about  it,  and  ‘  ’fess  ’  to 
mother  how  silly  I ’ve  been.  But  1  ’d  rather  do  it  my¬ 
self;  so  you  ’ll  not  tell,  will  you?  ” 

“  I  give  you  my  word  I  won’t;  only  what  shall  I  say 
when  they  ask  me  ?  ” 

“Just  say  I  looked  pretty  well,  and  was  having  a 
good  time.” 

“  I  ’ll  say  the  first,  with  all  my  heart ;  but  how  about 
the  other?  You  don’t  look  as  if  you  were  having  a 
good  time ;  are  you  ?  ”  and  Laurie  looked  at  her  with 
an  expression  which  made  her  answer,  in  a  whisper,  — 

“  No  ;  not  just  now.  Don’t  think  I  ’m  horrid  ;  I  only 
wanted  a  little  fun,  but  this  sort  does  n’t  pay,  I  find,  and 
I ’m  getting  tired  of  it.” 

“Here  comes  Ned  Moffat;  what  does  he  want?” 
said  Laurie,  knitting  his  black  brows,  as  if  he  did  not 
regard  his  young  host  in  the  light  of  a  pleasant  addition 
to  the  party. 

“  He  put  his  name  down  for  three  dances,  and  I 
suppose  he ’s  coming  for  them.  What  a  bore  !  ”  said 
Meg,  assuming  a  languid  air,  which  amused  Laurie 
immensely. 

He  did  not  speak  to  her  again  till  supper-time,  when 
he  saw  her  drinking  champagne  with  Ned  and  his  friend 
Fisher,  who  were  behaving  “  like  a  pair  of  fools,”  as 
Laurie  said  to  himself,  for  he  felt  a  brotherly  sort  of 


Meg  Goes  to  Vanity  Fair  119 

right  to  watch  over  the  Marches,  and  fight  their  battles 
whenever  a  defender  was  needed. 

“  You  ’ll  have  a  splitting  headache  to-morrow,  if  you 
drink  much  of  that.  I  wouldn’t,  Meg;  your  mother 
does  n’t  like  it,  you  know,”  he  whispered,  leaning  over 
her  chair,  as  Ned  turned  to  refill  her  glass,  and  Fisher 
stooped  to  pick  up  her  fan. 

‘‘I’m  not  Meg,  to-night;  I’m  ‘a  doll,’  who  does  all 
sorts  of  crazy  things.  To-morrow  I  shall  put  away  my 
‘  fuss  and  feathers,’  and  be  desperately  good  again,” 
she  answered,  with  an  affected  little  laugh. 

“  Wish  to-morrow  was  here,  then,”  muttered  Laurie, 
walking  off,  ill-pleased  at  the  change  he  saw  in  her. 

Meg  danced  and  flirted,  chattered  and  giggled,  as  the 
other  girls  did ;  after  supper  she  undertook  the  Ger¬ 
man,  and  blundered  through  it,  nearly  upsetting  her 
partner  with  her  long  skirt,  and  romping  in  a  way  that 
scandalized  Laurie,  who  looked  on  and  meditated  a 
lecture.  But  he  got  no  chance  to  deliver  it,  for  Meg 
kept  away  from  him  till  he  came  to  say  good-night. 

“  Remember !  ”  she  said,  trying  to  smile,  for  the  split¬ 
ting  headache  had  already  begun. 

“  Silence  a  la  mort,”  replied  Laurie,  with  a  melodra¬ 
matic  flourish,  as  he  went  away. 

This  little  bit  of  by-play  excited  Annie’s  curiosity;  but 
Meg  was  too  tired  for  gossip,  and  went  to  bed,  feeling  as 
if  she  had  been  to  a  masquerade,  and  had  n’t  enjoyed 
herself  as  much  as  she  expected.  She  was  sick  all  the 
next  day,  and  on  Saturday  went  home,  quite  used  up 
with  her  fortnight’s  fun,  and  feeling  that  she  had  “  sat 
in  the  lap  of  luxury”  long  enough. 

“  It  does  seem  pleasant  to  be  quiet,  and  not  have 
company  manners  on  all  the  time.  Home  is  a  nice 
place,  though  it  is  n’t  splendid,”  said  Meg,  looking 


120  Little  Women 

about  her  with  a  restful  expression,  as  she  sat  with  he! 
mother  and  Jo  on  the  Sunday  evening. 

“  I ’m  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  dear,  for  I  was  afraid 
home  would  seem  dull  and  poor  to  you,  after  your  fine 
quarters,”  replied  her  mother,  who  had  given  her  many 
anxious  looks  that  day ;  for  motherly  eyes  are  quick  to 
see  any  change  in  children’s  faces. 

Meg  had  told  her  adventures  gayly,  and  said  over  and 
over  what  a  charming  time  she  had  had ;  but  something 
still  seemed  to  weigh  upon  her  spirits,  and,  when  the 
younger  girls  were  gone  to  bed,  she  sat  thoughtfully 
staring  at  the  fire,  saying  little,  and  looking  worried. 
As  the  clock  struck  nine,  and  Jo  proposed  bed,  Meg 
suddenly  left  her  chair,  and,  taking  Beth’s  stool,  leaned 
her  elbows  on  her  mother’s  knee,  saying  bravely,  — 

“  Marmee,  I  want  to  ‘  ’fess.’  ” 

“  I  thought  so;  what  is  it,  dear?” 

“  Shall  I  go  away  ?  ”  asked  Jo  discreetly. 

“  Of  course  not;  don’t  I  always  tell  you  everything  ? 
I  was  ashamed  to  speak  of  it  before  the  children,  but  I 
want  you  to  know  all  the  dreadful  things  I  did  at  the 
Moffats’.” 

“  We  are  prepared,”  said  Mrs.  March,  smiling,  but 
looking  a  little  anxious. 

“  I  told  you  they  dressed  me  up,  but  I  did  n’t  tell  you 
that  they  powdered  and  squeezed  and  frizzled,  and 
made  me  look  like  a  fashion-plate.  Laurie  thought  I 
was  n’t  proper ;  I  know  he  did,  though  he  did  n’t  say 
so,  and  one  man  called  me  ‘  a  doll.’  I  knew  it  was 
silly,  but  they  flattered  me,  and  said  I  was  a  beauty, 
and  quantities  of  nonsense,  so  I  let  them  make  a  fool 
of  me.” 

“  Is  that  all  ?  ”  asked  Jo,  as  Mrs.  March  looked 
silently  at  the  downcast  face  of  her  pretty  daughter, 


Meg  Goes  to  Vanity  Fair  121 

and  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  blame  her  little 
follies. 

“No;  I  drank  champagne  and  romped  and  tried  to 
flirt,  and  was  altogether  abominable,”  said  Meg  self- 
reproachfully. 

“  There  is  something  more,  I  think;  ”  and  Mrs.  March 
smoothed  the  soft  cheek,  which  suddenly  grew  rosy,  as 
Meg  answered  slowly,  — 

“  Yes;  it ’s  very  silly,  but  I  want  to  tell  it,  because  I 
hate  to  have  people  say  and  think  such  things  about  us 
and  Laurie.” 

Then  she  told  the  various  bits  of  gossip  she  had 
heard  at  the  Moffats’ ;  and,  as  she  spoke,  Jo  saw  her 
mother  fold  her  lips  tightly,  as  if  ill  pleased  that  such 
ideas  should  be  put  into  Meg’s  innocent  mind. 

“  Well,  if  that  is  n’t  the  greatest  rubbish  I  ever  heard,” 
cried  Jo  indignantly.  “  Why  did  n’t  you  pop  out  and 
tell  them  so,  on  the  spot  ?  ” 

“  I  could  n’t,  it  was  so  embarrassing  for  me.  I 
could  n’t  help  hearing,  at  first,  and  then  I  was  so 
angry  and  ashamed,  I  did  n’t  remember  that  I  ought 
to  go  away.” 

“Just  wait  till  /  see  Annie  Moffat,  and  I  ’ll  show  you 
how  to  settle  such  ridiculous  stuff.  The  idea  of  having 
4  plans,’  and  being  kind  to  Laurie,  because  he ’s  rich, 
and  may  marry  us  by  and  by!  Won’t  he  shout,  when 
I  tell  him  what  those  silly  things  say  about  us  poor 
children  ?”  and  Jo  laughed,  as  if,  on  second  thoughts, 
the  thing  struck  her  as  a  good  joke. 

“  If  you  tell  Laurie,  I  ’ll  never  forgive  you  !  She 
mustn’t,  must  she,  mother?”  said  Meg,  looking 
distressed. 

“No;  never  repeat  that  foolish  gossip,  and  forget  it 
as  soon  as  you  can,”  said  Mrs.  March  gravely.  “  I  was 


12  2 


Little  Women 


very  unwise  to  let  you  go  among  people  of  whom  1 
know  so  little,  —  kind,  I  dare  say,  but  worldly,  ill-bred, 
and  full  of  these  vulgar  ideas  about  young  people.  I 
am  more  sorry  than  I  can  express  for  the  mischief  this 
visit  may  have  done  you,  Meg.” 

“  Don’t  be  sorry,  I  won’t  let  it  hurt  me;  I  ’ll  forget  all 
the  bad,  and  remember  only  the  good  ;  for  I  did  enjoy 
a  great  deal,  and  thank  you  very  much  for  letting  me 
go.  I’ll  not  be  sentimental  or  dissatisfied,  mother;  I 
know  I  ’m  a  silly  little  girl,  and  I  ’ll  stay  with  you  till 
I  ’m  fit  to  take  care  of  myself.  But  it  is  nice  to  be 
praised  and  admired,  and  I  can’t  help  saying  I  like  it,” 
said  Meg,  looking  half  ashamed  of  the  confession. 

“  That  is  perfectly  natural,  and  quite  harmless,  if  the 
liking  does  not  become  a  passion,  and  lead  one  to  do 
foolish  or  unmaidenly  things.  Learn  to  know  and  value 
the  praise  which  is  worth  having,  and  to  excite  the 
admiration  of  excellent  people  by  being  modest  as  well 
as  pretty,  Meg.” 

Margaret  sat  thinking  a  moment,  while  Jo  stood  with 
her  hands  behind  her,  looking  both  interested  and  a 
little  perplexed ;  for  it  was  a  new  thing  to  see  Meg 
blushing  and  talking  about  admiration,  lovers,  and 
things  of  that  sort;  and  Jo  felt  as  if,  during  that  fort¬ 
night,  her  sister  had  grown  up  amazingly,  and  was 
drifting  away  from  her  into  a  world  where  she  could 
not  follow. 

“  Mother,  do  you  have  ‘  plans,’  as  Mrs.  Moffat  said?” 
asked  Meg  bashfully. 

“  Yes,  my  dear,  I  have  a  great  many;  all  mothers  do, 
but  mine  differ  somewhat  from  Mrs.  Moffat’s,  I  suspect. 
I  will  tell  you  some  of  them,  for  the  time  has  come 
when  a  word  may  set  this  romantic  little  head  and  heart 
of  yours  right,  on  a  very  serious  subject.  You  are 


Meg  Goes  to  Vanity  Fair  123 

young,  Meg,  but  not  too  young  to  understand  me ;  and 
mothers’  lips  are  the  fittest  to  speak  of  such  things  to 
girls  like  you.  Jo,  your  turn  will  come  in  time,  perhaps, 
so  listen  to  my  ‘  plans,’  and  help  me  carry  them  out,  if 
they  are  good.” 

Jo  went  and  sat  on  one  arm  of  the  chair,  looking  as 
if  she  thought  they  were  about  to  join  in  some  very 
solemn  affair..  Holding  a  hand  of  each,  and  watching 
the  two  young  faces  wistfully,  Mrs.  March  said,  in  her 
serious  yet  cheery  way,  — 

“  I  want  my  daughters  to  be  beautiful,  accomplished, 
and  good ;  to  be  admired,  loved,  and  respected ;  to 
have  a  happy  youth,  to  be  well  and  wisely  married,  and 
to  lead  useful,  pleasant  lives,  with  as  little  care  and 
sorrow  to  try  them  as  God  sees  fit  to  send.  To  be  loved 
and  chosen  by  a  good  man  is  the  best  and  sweetest 
thing  which  can  happen  to  a  woman ;  and  I  sincerely 
hope  my  girls  may  know  this  beautiful  experience.  It 
is  natural  to  think  of  it,  Meg;  right  to  hope  and  wait 
for  it,  and  wise  to  prepare  for  it ;  so  that,  when  the  happy 
time  comes,  you  may  feel  ready  for  the  duties  and 
worthy  of  the  joy.  My  dear  girls,  I  am  ambitious  for 
you,  but  not  to  have  you  make  a  dash  in  the  world,  — 
marry  rich  men  merely  because  they  are  rich,  or  have 
splendid  houses,  which  are  not  homes  because  love  is 
wanting.  Money  is  a  needful  and  precious  thing,  — and, 
when  well  used,  a  noble  thing,  — but  I  never  want  you  to 
think  it  is  the  first  or  only  prize  to  strive  for.  I  ’d 
rather  see  you  poor  men’s  wives,  if  you  were  happy, 
beloved,  contented,  than  queens  on  thrones,  without 
self-respect  and  peace.” 

“  Poor  girls  don’t  stand  any  chance,  Belle  says,  unless 
they  put  themselves  forward,”  sighed  Meg.  * 

“  Then  we  ’ll  be  old  maids,”  said  Jo  stoutly. 


Little  Women 


i  24 

“  Right,  Jo ;  better  be  happy  old  maids  than  un¬ 
happy  wives,  or  unmaidenly  girls,  running  about  to  find 
husbands,”  said  Mrs.  March  decidedly.  “  Don’t  be 
troubled,  Meg;  poverty  seldom  daunts  a  sincere  lover. 
Some  of  the  best  and  most  honored  women  I  know 
were  poor  girls,  but  so  love-worthy  that  they  were  not 
allowed  to  be  old  maids.  Leave  these  things  to  time ; 
make  this  home  happy,  so  that  you  may  be  fit  for  homes 
of  your  own,  if  they  are  offered  you,  and  contented  here 
if  they  are  not.  One  thing  remember,  my  girls :  mother 
is  always  ready  to  be  your  confidant,  father  to  be  your 
friend  ;  and  both  of  us  trust  and  hope  that  our  daugh¬ 
ters,  whether  married  or  single,  will  be  the  pride  and 
comfort  of  our  lives.” 

“We  will,  Marmee,  we  will!”  cried  both,  with  all 
their  hearts,  as  she  bade  them  good-night. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  P.  C.  AND  P.  O. 

AS  spring  came  on,  a  new  set  of  amusements 
became  the  fashion,  and  the  lengthening  days 
gave  long  afternoons  for  work  and  play  of  all 
sorts.  The  garden  had  to  be  put  in  order,  and  each 
sister  had  a  quarter  of  the  little  plot  to  do  what  she 
liked  with.  Hannah  used  to  say,  “  I ’d  know  which 
each  of  them  gardings  belonged  to,  ef  I  see  ’em  in 
Chiny;  ”  and  so  she  might,  for  the  girls’  tastes  differed 
as  much  as  their  characters.  Meg’s  had  roses  and 
heliotrope,  myrtle,  and  a  little  orange-tree  in  it.  Jo’s 
bed  was  never  alike  two  seasons,  for  she  was  always 
trying  experiments ;  this  year  it  was  to  be  a  plantation 


The  P.  C.  and  P.  O.  125 

of  sun-flowers,  the  seeds  of  which  cheerful  and  aspiring 
plant  were  to  feed  “  Aunt  Cockle-top,”  and  her  family 
of  chicks.  Beth  had  old-fashioned,  fragrant  flowers  in 
her  garden,  —  sweet  peas  and  mignonette,  larkspur, 
pinks,  pansies,  and  southernwood,  with  chickweed  for 
the  bird,  and  catnip  for  the  pussies.  Amy  had  a  bower 
in  hers,  —  rather  small  and  earwiggy,  but  very  pretty  to 
look  at,  —  with  honeysuckles  and  morning-glories  hang¬ 
ing  their  colored  horns  and  bells  in  graceful  wreaths  all 
over  it;  tall,  white  lilies,  delicate  ferns,  and  as  many 
brilliant,  picturesque  plants  as  would  consent  to  blossom 
there. 

Gardening,  walks,  rows  on  the  river,  and  flower-hunts 
employed  the  fine  days ;  and  for  rainy  ones,  they  had 
house  diversions,  —  some  old,  some  new,  —  all  more  or 
less  original.  One  of  these  was  the  “P.  C.”;  for,  as 
secret  societies  were  the  fashion,  it  was  thought  proper 
to  have  one ;  and,  as  all  of  the  girls  admired  Dickens, 
they  called  themselves  the  Pickwick  Club.  With  a  few 
interruptions,  they  had  kept  this  up  for  a  year,  and  met 
every  Saturday  evening  in  the  big  garret,  on  which 
occasions  the  ceremonies  were  as  follows :  Three  chairs 
were  arranged  in  a  row  before  a  table,  on  which  was  a 
lamp,  also  four  white  badges,  with  a  big  “  P.  C.”  in  dif¬ 
ferent  colors  on  each,  and  the  weekly  newspaper,  called 
44  The  Pickwick  Portfolio,”  to  which  all  contributed 
something;  while  Jo,  who  revelled  in  pens  and  ink,  was 
the  editor.  At  seven  o’clock,  the  four  members  as¬ 
cended  to  the  club-room,  tied  their  badges  round  their 
heads,  and  took  their  seats  with  great  solemnity.  Meg, 
as  the  eldest,  was  Samuel  Pickwick;  Jo,  being  of  a 
literary  turn,  Augustus  Snodgrass;  Beth,  because  she 
was  round  and  rosy,  Tracy  Tupman ;  and  Amy,  who 
was  always  trying  to  do  what  she  could  n’t,  was  Nathaniel 


126 


Little  Women 


Winkle.  Pickwick,  the  president,  read  the  paper,  which 
was  filled  with  original  tales,  poetry,  local  news,  funny 
advertisements,  and  hints,  in  which  they  goodnaturedly 
reminded  each  other  of  their  faults  and  short-comings. 
On  one  occasion,  Mr.  Pickwick  put  on  a  pair  of  spec¬ 
tacles  without  any  glasses,  rapped  upon  the  table, 
hemmed,  and,  having  stared  hard  at  Mr.  Snodgrass, 
who  was  tilting  back  in  his  chair,  till  he  arranged  himself 
properly,  began  to  read :  — 


o. 


l27 


The  P.  C.  and  P. 


“Cfie  PtcIUnt'cfe  portfolio” 


MAY  20,  1 8 — 


fact’s  Corner. 


ANNIVERSARY  ODE. 


Again  we  meet  to  celebrate 
With  badge  and  solemn  rite, 

Our  fifty-second  anniversary, 

In  Pickwick  Hall,  to-night. 

We  all  are  here  in  perfect  health, 

None  gone  from  our  small  band; 

Again  we  see  each  well-known  face, 
And  press  each  friendly  hand. 

Our  Pickwick,  always  at  his  post, 

With  reverence  we  greet, 

As,  spectacles  on  nose,  he  reads 
Our  well-filled  weekly  sheet. 

Although  he  suffers  from  a  cold, 

We  joy  to  hear  him  speak, 

For  words  of  wisdom  from  him  fall, 

In  spite  of  croak  or  squeak. 

Old  six-foot  Snodgrass  looms  on  high, 
With  elephantine  grace, 

And  beams  upon  the  company, 

With  brown  and  jovial  face. 

Poetic  fire  lights  up  his  eye, 

He  struggles  ’gainst  his  lot. 

Behold  ambition  on  his  brow, 

And  on  his  nose  a  blot ! 


Next  our  peaceful  Tupman  comes, 

So  rosy,  plump,  and  sweet, 

Who  chokes  with  laughter  at  the  puns, 
And  tumbles  off  his  seat. 

Prim  little  Winkle  too  is  here, 

With  every  hair  in  place, 

A  model  of  propriety, 

Though  he  hates  to  wash  his  face. 

The  year  is  gone,  we  still  unite 
To  joke  and  laugh  and  read, 

And  tread  the  path  of  literature 
That  doth  to  glory  lead. 

Long  may  our  paper  prosper  well, 

Our  club  unbroken  be, 

And  coming  years  their  blessings  pour 
On  the  useful,  gay  “  P.  C.” 

A.  Snodgrass. 

- ♦ - 

THE  MASKED  MARRIAGE. 

A  TALE  OF  VENICE. 


Gondola  after  gondola  swept  up  to 
the  marble  steps,  and  left  its  lovely 
load  to  swell  the  brilliant  throng  that 
filled  the  stately  halls  of  Count  de 
Adelon.  Knights  and  ladies,  elves 


Little  Women 


128 


and  pages,  monks  and  flower-girls,  all 
mingled  gayly  in  the  dance.  Sweet 
voices  and  rich  melody  filled  the  air  ; 
and  so  with  mirth  and  music  the  mas¬ 
querade  went  on. 

“  Has  your  Highness  seen  the  Lady 
Viola  to-night  ?  ”  asked  a  gallant 
troubadour  of  the  fairy  queen  who 
floated  down  the  hall  upon  his  arm. 

“Yes;  is  she  not  lovely,  though  so 
sad !  Her  dress  is  well  chosen,  too, 
for  in  a  week  she  weds  Count  Antonio, 
whom  she  passionately  hates.” 

“  By  my  faith,  I  envy  him.  Yonder 
he  comes,  arrayed  like  a  bridegroom, 
except  the  black  mask.  When  that  is 
off  we  shall  see  how  he  regards  the  fair 
maid  whose  heart  he  cannot  win,  though 
her  stem  father  bestows  her  hand,”  re¬ 
turned  the  troubadour. 

“  ’T  is  whispered  that  she  loves  the 
young  English  artist  who  haunts  her 
steps,  and  is  spurned  by  the  old  count,” 
said  the  lady,  as  they  joined  the  dance. 

The  revel  was  at  its  height  when  a 
priest  appeared,  and,  withdrawing  the 
young  pair  to  an  alcove  hung  with  pur¬ 
ple  velvet,  he  motioned  them  to  kneel. 
Instant  silence  fell  upon  the  gay  throng  ; 
and  not  a  sound,  but  the  dash  of  foun¬ 
tains  or  the  rustle  of  orange-groves 
sleeping  in  the  moonlight,  broke  the 
hush,  as  Count  de  Adelon  spoke  thus 

“My  lords  and  ladies,  pardon  the 
ruse  by  which  I  have  gathered  you  here 
to  witness  the  marriage  of  my  daughter. 
Father,  we  wait  your  services.” 

All  eyes  turned  toward  the  bridal 
party,  and  a  low  murmur  of  amazement 
went  through  the  throng,  for  neither 
bride  nor  groom  removed  their  masks. 
Curiosity  and  wonder  possessed  all 
hearts,  but  respect  restrained  all  tongues 
till  the  holy  rite  was  over.  Then  the 
eager  spectators  gathered  round  the 
count,  demanding  an  explanation. 

“  Gladly  would  I  give  it  if  I  could; 
but  I  only  know  that  it  was  the  whim 
pf  my  timid  Viola,  and  I  yielded  to  it. 


Now,  my  children,  let  the  play  end. 
Unmask,  and  receive  my  blessing.” 

But  neither  bent  the  knee ;  for  the 
young  bridegroom  replied,  in  a  tone  that 
startled  all  listeners,  as  the  mask  fell, 
disclosing  the  noble  face  of  Ferdinand 
Devereux,  the  artist  lover;  and,  leaning 
on  the  breast  where  now  flashed  the 
star  of  an  English  earl,  was  the  lovely 
Viola,  radiant  with  joy  and  beauty. 

“  My  lord,  you  scornfully  bade  me 
claim  your  daughter  when  I  could 
boast  as  high  a  name  and  vast  a  fortune 
as  the  Count  Antonio.  I  can  do  more; 
for  even  your  ambitious  soul  cannot  re¬ 
fuse  the  EarL  of  Devereux  and  De 
Vere,  when  he  gives  his  ancient  name 
and  boundless  wealth  in  return  for  the 
beloved  hand  of  this  fair  lady,  now  my 
wife.” 

The  count  stood  like  one  changed  to 
stone;  and,  turning  to  the  bewildered 
crowd,  Ferdinand  added,  with  a  gay 
smile  of  triumph,  “To  you,  my  gallant 
friends,  I  can  only  wish  that  your  woo¬ 
ing  may  prosper  as  mine  has  done  ;  and 
that  you  may  all  win  as  fair  a  bride  as  I 
have,  by  this  masked  marriage.” 

S.  Pickwick. 

- • - 

Why  is  the  P.  C.  like  the  Tower  of 
Babel  ?  It  is  full  of  unruly  members. 

- • - 

THE  HISTORY  OF  A  SQUASH. 


Once  upon  a  time  a  farmer  planted  a 
little  seed  in  his  garden,  and  after  a 
while  it  sprouted  and  became  a  vine, 
and  bore  many  squashes.  One  day  in 
October,  when  they  were  ripe,  he  picked 
one  and  took  it  to  market.  A  grocer- 
man  bought  and  put  it  in  his  shop, 


The  P.  C. 


and  P.  O. 


129 


That  same  morning,  a  little  girl,  in  a 
brown  hat  and  blue  dress,  with  a  round 
face  and  snub  nose,  went  and  bought  it 
for  her  mother.  She  lugged  it  home, 
cut  it  up,  and  boiled  it  in  the  big  pot ; 
mashed  some  of  it,  with  salt  and  butter, 
for  dinner;  and  to  the  rest  she  added  a 
pint  of  milk,  two  eggs,  four  spoons  of 
sugar,  nutmeg,  and  some  crackers  ;  put 
it  in  a  deep  dish,  and  baked  it  till  it  was 
brown  and  nice;  and  next  day  it  was 
eaten  by  a  family  named  March. 

T.  Tupman. 

- ♦ - 

Mr.  Pickwick,  Sir:  — 

I  address  you  upon  the  subject  of  sin 
the  sinner  I  mean  is  a  man  named 
Winkle  who  makes  trouble  in  his  club 
by  laughing  and  sometimes  won’t  write 
his  piece  in  this  fine  paper  I  hope  you 
will  pardon  his  badness  and  let  him  send 
a  French  fable  because  he  can’t  write 
out  of  his  head  as  he  has  so  many  les¬ 
sons  to  do  and  no  brains  in  future  I  will 
try  to  take  time  by  the  fetlock  and  pre¬ 
pare  some  work  which  will  be  all  commy 
la  fo  that  means  all  right  I  am  in  haste 
as  it  is  nearly  school  time 

Yours  respectably,  N.  Winkle. 

[The  above  is  a  manly  and  handsome 
acknowledgment  of  past  misdemeanors. 
If  our  young  friend  studied  punctuation, 
it  would  be  well.] 

- ♦ - 

A  SAD  ACCIDENT. 


On  Friday  last,  we  were  startled  by  a 
violent  shock  in  our  basement,  followed 
by  cries  of  distress.  On  rushing,  in  a 


body,  to  the  cellar,  we  discovered  our 
beloved  President  prostrate  upon  the 
floor,  having  tripped  and  fallen  while 
getting  wood  for  domestic  purposes.  A 
perfect  scene  of  ruin  met  our  eyes;  for 
in  his  fall  Mr.  Pickwick  had  plunged  his 
head  and  shoulders  into  a  tub  of  water, 
upset  a  keg  of  soft  soap  upon  his  manly 
form,  and  torn  his  garments  badly.  On 
being  removed  from  this  perilous  situa¬ 
tion,  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  suf¬ 
fered  no  injury  but  several  bruises  ;  and, 
we  are  happy  to  add,  is  now  doing  well. 

Ed. 

— « — 


THE  PUBLIC  BEREAVEMENT. 

It  is  our  painful  duty  to  record 
the  sudden  and  mysterious  disap¬ 
pearance  of  our  cherished  friend, 
Mrs.  Snowball  Pat  Paw.  This 
lovely  and  beloved  cat  was  the  pet 
of  a  large  circle  of  warm  and  admir¬ 
ing  friends ;  for  her  beauty  attracted 
all  eyes,  her  graces  and  virtues  en¬ 
deared  her  to  all  hearts,  and  her  loss 
is  deeply  felt  by  the  whole  com¬ 
munity. 

When  last  seen,  she  was  sitting  at 
the  gate,  watching  the  butcher’s 
cart  ;  and  it  is  feared  that  some  vil¬ 
lain,  tempted  by  her  charms,  basely 
stole  her.  Weeks  have  passed,  but 
no  trace  of  her  has  been  discovered  ; 
and  we  relinquish  all  hope,  tie  a 
black  ribbon  to  her  basket,  set  aside 
her  dish,  and  weep  for  her  as  one 
lost  to  us  forever. 


- ♦ - 

A  sympathizing  friend  sends  the  fol* 
lowing  gem :  — 


9 


130 


Little  Women 


A  LAMENT 

FOR  S.  B.  PAT  PAW. 


We  mount  the  loss  of  our  little  pet, 
And  sigh  o’er  her  hapless  fate, 

For  never  more  by  the  fire  she  ’ll  sit, 
Nor  play  by  the  old  green  gate. 

The  little  grave  where  her  infant  sleeps 
Is  ’neath  the  chestnut  tree; 

But  o’er  her  grave  we  may  not  weep, 
We  know  not  where  it  may  be. 

Her  empty  bed,  her  idle  ball, 

Will  never  see  her  more ; 

No  gentle  tap,  no  loving  purr 
Is  heard  at  the  parlor-door. 

Another  cat  comes  after  her  mice, 

A  cat  with  a  dirty  face ; 

But  she  does  not  hunt  as  our  darling  did, 
Nor  play  with  her  airy  grace. 

Her  stealthy  paws  tread  the  very  hall 
Where  Snowball  used  to  play, 

But  she  only  spits  at  the  dogs  our  pet 
So  gallantly  drove  away. 

She  is  useful  and  mild,  and  does  her  best, 
But  she  is  not  fair  to  see  ; 

And  we  cannot  give  her  your  place,  dear, 
Nor  worship  her  as  we  worship  thee. 

A.  S. 


ADVERTISEMENTS, 


Miss  Oranthy  Bluggage,  the 
accomplished  Strong-Minded  Lecturer, 
will  deliver  her  famous  Lecture  on 
“  Woman  and  Her  Position,”  at 
Pickwick  Hall,  next  Saturday  Evening, 
after  the  usual  performances. 


A  Weekly  Meeting  will  be  held 
at  Kitchen  Place,  to  teach  young  ladies 
how  to  cook.  Hannah  Brown  will  pre¬ 
side  ;  and  all  are  invited  to  attend. 


The  Dustpan  Society  will  meet 
on  Wednesday  next,  and  parade  in  the 
upper  story  of  the  Club  House.  All 
members  to  appear  in  uniform  and 
shoulder  their  brooms  at  nine  precisely. 


Mrs.  Beth  Bouncer  will  open  her 
new  assortment  of  Doll’s  Millinery  next 
week.  The  latest  Paris  Fashions  have 
arrived,  and  orders  are  respectfully  so¬ 
licited. 


A  New  Play  will  appear  at  the 
Barnville  Theatre,  in  the  course  of  a 
few  weeks,  which  will  surpass  anything 
ever  seen  on  the  American  stage.  “  The 
Greek  Slave,  or  Constantine  the 
Avenger,”  is  the  name  of  this  thrilling 
drama !  !  ! 


HINTS. 

If  S.  P.  did  n’t  use  so  much  soap  on 
his  hands,  he  would  n’t  always  be  late 
at  breakfast.  A.  S.  is  requested  not  to 
whistle  in  the  street.  T.  T.,  please 
don’t  forget  Amy’s  napkin.  N.  W. 
must  not  fret  because  his  dress  has  not 
nine  tucks. 

- ♦ - 

WEEKLY  REPORT. 

Meg  —  Good. 

Jo  —  Bad. 

Beth  —  Very  good. 

Amy  —  Middling. 


The  P.  C.  and  P.  O.  13 


As  the  President  finished  reading  the  paper  (which  1 
beg  leave  to  assure  my  readers  is  a  bona  fide  copy  of  one 
written  by  bojia  fide  girls  once  upon  a  time),  a  round  of 
applause  followed,  and  then  Mr.  Snodgrass  rose  to  make 
a  proposition. 

“  Mr.  President  and  gentlemen,”  he  began,  assuming 
a  parliamentary  attitude  and  tone,  “  I  wish  to  propose 
the  admission  of  a  new  member,  —  one  who  highly  de¬ 
serves  the  honor,  would  be  deeply  grateful  for  it,  and 
would  add  immensely  to  the  spirit  of  the  club,  the  literary 
value  of  the  paper,  and  be  no  end  jolly  and  nice.  I  pro¬ 
pose  Mr.  Theodore  Laurence  as  an  honorary  member 
of  the  P.  C.  Come  now,  do  have  him.” 

Jo’s  sudden  change  of  tone  made  the  girls  laugh;  but 
all  looked  rather  anxious,  and  no  one  said  a  word,  as 
Snodgrass  took  his  seat. 

“  We  ’ll  put  it  to  vote,”  said  the  President.  “  All  in 
favor  of  this  motion  please  to  manifest  it  by  saying 
‘  Ay.’  ” 

A  loud  response  from  Snodgrass,  followed,  to  every¬ 
body’s  surprise,  by  a  timid  one  from  Beth. 

“  Contrary  minded  say  ‘  No.’  ” 

Meg  and  Amy  were  contrary  minded ;  and  Mr. 
Winkle  rose  to  say,  with  great  elegance,  “We  don’t 
wish  any  boys  ;  they  only  joke  and  bounce  about.  This 
is  a  ladies’  club,  and  we  wish  to  be  private  and  proper.” 

“  I ’m  afraid  he  ’ll  laugh  at  our  paper,  and  make  fun 
of  us  afterward,”  observed  Pickwick,  pulling  the  little 
curl  on  her  forehead,  as  she  always  did  when  doubtful. 

Up  rose  Snodgrass,  very  much  in  earnest.  “  Sir,  I 
give  you  my  word  as  a  gentleman,  Laurie  won’t  do 
anything  of  the  sort.  He  likes  to  write,  and  he  ’ll  give 
a  tone  to  our  contributions,  and  keep  us  from  being 
sentimental,  don’t  you  see?  We  can  do  so  little  for  him, 


Little  Women 


1  32 

and  he  does  so  much  for  us,  I  think  the  least  we  can  do 
is  to  offer  him  a  place  here,  and  make  him  welcome  if 
he  comes.” 

This  artful  allusion  to  benefits  conferred  brought 
Tupman  to  his  feet,  looking  as  if  he  had  quite  made  up 
his  mind. 

“  Yes,  we  ought  to  do  it,  even  if  we  are  afraid.  I  say 
he  may  come,  and  his  grandpa,  too,  if  he  likes.” 

This  spirited  burst  from  Beth  electrified  the  club,  and 
Jo  left  her  seat  to  shake  hands  approvingly.  “  Now 
then,  vote  again.  Everybody  remember  it ’s  our  Laurie, 
and  say  ‘  Ay  !  ’  ”  cried  Snodgrass  excitedly. 

“  Ay  !  ay  !  ay  !  ”  replied  three  voices  at  once. 

“  Good  !  Bless  you  !  Now,  as  there ’s  nothing  like 
i  taking  time  by  the  fetlock ,’  as  Winkle  characteristically 
observes,  allow  me  to  present  the  new  member ;  ”  and, 
to  the  dismay  of  the  rest  of  the  club,  Jo  threw  open  the 
door  of  the  closet,  and  displayed  Laurie  sitting  on  a 
rag-bag,  flushed  and  twinkling  with  suppressed  laughter. 

“You  rogue!  you  traitor!  Jo,  how  could  you?” 
cried  the  three  girls,  as  Snodgrass  led  her  friend  tri¬ 
umphantly  forth;  and,  producing  both  a  chair  and  a 
badge,  installed  him  in  a  jiffy. 

“  The  coolness  of  you  two  rascals  is  amazing,”  began 
Mr.  Pickwick,  trying  to  get  up  an  awful  frown,  and  only 
succeeding  in  producing  an  amiable  smile.  But  the  new 
member  w^s  equal  to  the  occasion ;  and,  rising,  with  a 
grateful  salutation  to  the  Chair,  said,  in  the  most  engag¬ 
ing  manner,  “  Mr.  President  and  ladies,  —  I  beg  pardon, 
gentlemen,  —  allow  me  to  introduce  myself  as  Sam 
Weller,  the  very  humble  servant  of  the  club.” 

“  Good  !  good  !  ”  cried  Jo,  pounding  with  the  handle 
of  the  old  warming-pan  on  which  she  leaned. 

“  My  faithful  friend  and  noble  patron,”  continued 


The  P.  C.  and  P.  O.  133 

Laurie,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  “  who  has  so  flatteringly 
presented  me,  is  not  to  be  blamed  for  the  base  stratagem 
of  to-night.  I  planned  it,  and  she  only  gave  in  after 
lots  of  teasing.” 

“  Come  now,  don’t  lay  it  all  on  yourself;  you  know  I 
proposed  the  cupboard,”  broke  in  Snodgrass,  who  was 
enjoying  the  joke  amazingly. 

“  Never  you  mind  what  she  says.  I ’m  the  wretch 
that  did  it,  sir,”  said  the  new  member,  with  a  Welleresque 
nod  to  Mr.  Pickwick.  “  But  on  my  honor,  I  never  will 
do  so  again,  and  henceforth  dewote  myself  to  the  interest 
of  this  immortal  club.” 

Hear  !  hear  !  ”  cried  Jo,  clashing  the  lid  of  the  warm¬ 
ing-pan  like  a  cymbal. 

“  Go  on,  go  on  !  ”  added  Winkle  and  Tupman,  while 
the  President  bowed  benignly. 

“  I  merely  wish  to  say,  that  as  a  slight  token  of  my 
gratitude  for  the  honor  done  me,  and  as  a  means  of  pro¬ 
moting  friendly  relations  between  adjoining  nations,  I 
have  set  up  a  post-office  in  the  hedge  in  the  lower 
corner  of  the  garden;  a  fine,  spacious  building,  with 
padlocks  on  the  doors,  and  every  convenience  for  the 
mails,  —  also  the  females,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the 
expression.  It ’s  the  old  martin-house  ;  but  I ’ve  stopped 
up  the  door,  and  made  the  roof  open,  so  it  will  hold  all 
sorts  of  things,  and  save  our  valuable  time.  Letters, 
manuscripts,  books,  and  bundles  can  be  passed  in  there ; 
and,  as  each  nation  has  a  key,  it  will  be  uncommonly 
nice,  I  fancy.  Allow  me  to  present  the  club  key;  and, 
with  many  thanks  for  your  favor,  take  my  seat.” 

Great  applause  as  Mr.  Weller  deposited  a  little  key  on 
the  table,  and  subsided ;  the  warming-pan  clashed  and 
waved  wildly,  and  it  was  some  time  before  order  could 
be  restored.  A  long  discussion  followed,  and  every  one 


Little  Women 


13  + 


came  out  surprising,  for  every  one  did  her  best;  so  it 
was  an  unusually  lively  meeting,  and  did  not  adjourn  till 
a  late  hour,  when  it  broke  up  with  three  shrill  cheers  for 
the  new  member.  No  one  ever  regretted  the  admittance 
of  Sam  Weller,  for  a  more  devoted,  well-behaved,  and 
jovial  member  no  club  could  have.  He  certainly  did 
add  “spirit”  to  the  meetings,  and  “a  tone”  to  the 
paper;  for  his  orations  convulsed  his  hearers,  and  his 
contributions  were  excellent,  being  patriotic,  classical, 
comical,  or  dramatic,  but  never  sentimental.  Jo  regarded 
them  as  worthy  of  Bacon,  Milton,  or  Shakespeare;  and 
remodelled  her  own  works  with  good  effect,  she  thought. 

The  P.  O.  was  a  capital  little  institution,  and  flourished 
wonderfully,  for  nearly  as  many  queer  things  passed 
through  it  as  through  the  real  office.  Tragedies  and 
cravats,  poetry  and  pickles,  garden-seeds  and  long  letters, 
music  and  gingerbread,  rubbers,  invitations,  scoldings 
and  puppies.  The  old  gentleman  liked  the  fun,  and 
amused  himself  by  sending  odd  bundles,  mysterious 
messages,  and  funny  telegrams ;  and  his  gardener,  who 
was  smitten  with  Hannah’s  charms,  actually  sent  a 
love-letter  to  Jo’s  care.  How  they  laughed  when  the 
secret  came  out,  never  dreaming  how  many  love-letters 
that  little  post-office  would  hold  in  the  years  to  come  ! 


CHAPTER  XI 


EXPERIMENTS 


HE  first  of  June  !  The  Kings  are  off  to  the 
sea-shore  to-morrow,  and  I ’m  free.  Three 
months’  vacation, — how  I  shall  enjoy  it !  ” 


exclaimed  Meg,  coming  home  one  warm  day  to  find  Jo 


Experiments  135 

laid  upon  the  sofa  in  an  unusual  state  of  exhaustion, 
while  Beth  took  off  her  dusty  boots,  and  Amy  made 
lemonade  for  the  refreshment  of  the  whole  party. 

“  Aunt  March  went  to-day,  for  which,  oh,  be  joyful !  ” 
said  Jo.  “I  was  mortally  afraid  she ’d  ask  me  to  go 
with  her;  if  she  had,  I  should  have  felt  as  if  I  ought  to 
do  it;  but  Plumfield  is  about  as  gay  as  a  churchyard, 
you  know,  and  I ’d  rather  be  excused.  We  had  a  flurry 
getting  the  old  lady  off,  and  I  had  a  fright  every  time 
she  spoke  to  me,  for  I  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  be  through 
that  I  was  uncommonly  helpful  and  sweet,  and  feared 
she ’d  find  it  impossible  to  part  from  me.  I  quaked  till 
she  was  fairly  in  the  carriage,  and  had  a  final  fright, 
for,  as  it  drove  off,  she  popped  out  her  head,  saying, 
‘Josyphine,  won’t  you — ?’  I  didn’t  hear  any  more, 
for  I  basely  turned  and  fled ;  I  did  actually  run,  and 
whisked  round  the  corner,  where  I  felt  safe.” 

“  Poor  old  Jo  !  she  came  in  looking  as  if  bears  were 
after  her,”  said  Beth,  as  she  cuddled  her  sister’s  feet  with 
a  motherly  air. 

“  Aunt  March  is  a  regular  samphire,  is  she  not  ?  ”  ob¬ 
served  Amy,  tasting  her  mixture  critically. 

“  She  means  vampire ,  not  sea-weed  ;  but  it  does  n’t 
matter;  it’s  too  warm  to  be  particular  about  one’s  parts 
of  speech,”  murmured  Jo. 

“  What  shall  you  do  all  your  vacation  ?  ”  asked  Amy, 
changing  the  subject,  with  tact. 

“  I  shall  lie  abed  late,  and  do  nothing,”  replied  Meg, 
from  the  depths  of  the  rocking-chair.  “  I ’ve  been  routed 
up  early  all  winter,  and  had  to  spend  my  days  working 
for  other  people ;  so  now  I ’m  going  to  rest  and  revel  to 
my  heart’s  content.” 

“No,”  said  Jo;  “that  dozy  way  wouldn’t  suit  me, 
I ’ve  laid  in  a  heap  of  books,  and  I ’m  going  to  improve 


Little  Women 


136 

my  shining  hours  reading  on  my  perch  in  the  ®ld  apple* 
tree,  when  I ’m  not  having  1  —  ” 

“  Don’t  say  *  larks  !  ’  ”  implored  Amy,  as  a  return  snub 
for  the  “samphire”  correction. 

“I’ll  say  ‘  nightingales,’  then,  with  Laurie;  that’s 
proper  and  appropriate,  since  he ’s  a  warbler.” 

“  Don’t  let  us  do  any  lessons,  Beth,  for  a  while,  but 
play  all  the  time,  and  rest,  as  the  girls  mean  to,”  proposed 
Amy. 

“  Well,  I  will,  if  mother  does  n’t  mind.  I  want  to  learn 
some  new  songs,  and  my  children  need  fitting  up  for  the 
summer;  they  are  dreadfully  out  of  order,  and  really 
suffering  for  clothes.  ” 

“  May  we,  mother  ?  ”  asked  Meg,  turning  to  Mrs.  March, 
who  sat  sewing,  in  what  they  called  “  Marmee’s  corner.” 

“  You  may  try  your  experiment  for  a  week,  and  see 
how  you  like  it.  I  think  by  Saturday  night  you  will  find 
that  all  play  and  no  work  is  as  bad  as  all  work  and  no 

play'” 

“  Oh,  dear,  no  !  it  will  be  delicious,  I ’m  sure,”  said 
Meg  complacently. 

“  I  now  propose  a  toast,  as  my  4  friend  and  pardner, 
Sairy  Gamp,’  says.  Fun  forever,  and  no  grubbing!” 
cried  Jo,  rising,  glass  in  hand,  as  the  lemonade  went 
round. 

They  all  drank  it  merrily,  and  began  the  experiment 
by  lounging  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Next  morning,  Meg 
did  not  appear  till  ten  o’clock  ;  her  solitary  breakfast  did 
not  taste  nice,  and  the  room  seemed  lonely  and  untidy; 
for  Jo  had  not  filled  the  vases,  Beth  had  not  dusted,  and 
Amy’s  books  lay  scattered  about.  Nothing  was  neat 
and  pleasant  but  “  Marmee’s  corner,”  which  looked  as 
usual ;  and  there  Meg  sat,  to  “  rest  and  read,”  which 
meant  yawn,  and  imagine  what  pretty  summer  dresses 


Experiments  137 

she  would  get  with  her  salary.  Jo  spent  the  morning 
on  the  river,  with  Laurie,  and  the  afternoon  reading  and 
crying  over  “  The  Wide,  Wide  World,”  up  in  the  apple- 
tree.  Beth  began  by  rummaging  everything  out  of  the 
big  closet,  where  her  family  resided ;  but,  getting  tired 
before  half  done,  she  left  her  establishment  topsy-turvy, 
and  went  to  her  music,  rejoicing  that  she  had  no  dishes 
to  wash.  Amy  arranged  her  bower,  put  on  her  best 
white  frock,  smoothed  her  curls,  and  sat  down  to  draw, 
under  the  honeysuckles,  hoping  some  one  would  see 
and  inquire  who  the  young  artist  was.  As  no  one 
appeared  but  an  inquisitive  daddy-long-legs,  who 
examined  her  work  with  interest,  she  went  to  walk, 
got  caught  in  a  shower,  and  came  home  dripping. 

At  tea-time  they  compared  notes,  and  all  agreed  that 
it  had  been  a  delightful,  though  unusually  long  day. 
Meg,  who  went  shopping  in  the  afternoon,  and  got  a 
“  sweet  blue  muslin,”  had  discovered,  after  she  had  cut 
the  breadths  off,  that  it  would  n’t  wash,  which  mishap 
made  her  slightly  cross.  Jo  had  burnt  the  skin  off  her 
nose  boating,  and  got  a  raging  headache  by  reading  too 
long.  Beth  was  worried  by  the  confusion  of  her  closet, 
and  the  difficulty  of  learning  three  or  four  songs  at 
once ;  and  Amy  deeply  regretted  the  damage  done  her 
frock,  for  Katy  Brown’s  party  was  to  be  the  next  day ; 
and  now,  like  Flora  McFlimsey,  she  had  “  nothing  to 
wear.”  But  these  were  mere  trifles ;  and  they  assured 
their  mother  that  the  experiment  was  working  finely. 
She  smiled,  said  nothing,  and,  with  Hannah’s  help,  did 
their  neglected  work,  keeping  home  pleasant,  and  the 
domestic  machinery  running  smoothly.  It  was  aston¬ 
ishing  what  a  peculiar  and  uncomfortable  state  of  things 
was  produced  by  the  “resting  and  revelling”  process. 
The  days  kept  getting  longer  and  longer;  the  weather 


Little  Women 


138 

was  unusually  variable,  and  so  were  tempers;  an  un¬ 
settled  feeling  possessed  every  one,  and  Satan  found 
plenty  of  mischief  for  the  idle  hands  to  do.  As  the 
height  of  luxury,  Meg  put  out  some  of  her  sewing,  and 
then  found  time  hang  so  heavily  that  she  fell  to  snipping 
and  spoiling  her  clothes,  in  her  attempts  to  furbish  them 
up  a  la  Moffat.  Jo  read  till  her  eyes  gave  out,  and  she 
was  sick  of  books;  got  so  fidgety  that  even  good- 
natured  Laurie  had  a  quarrel  with  her,  and  so  reduced 
in  spirits  that  she  desperately  wished  she  had  gone  with 
Aunt  March.  Beth  got  on  pretty  well,  for  she  was  con¬ 
stantly  forgetting  that  it  was  to  be  all playy  and  no  work , 
and  fell  back  into  her  old  ways  now  and  then ;  but 
something  in  the  air  affected  her,  and,  more  than  once, 
her  tranquillity  was  much  disturbed  ;  so  much  so,  that, 
on  one  occasion,  she  actually  shook  poor  dear  Joanna, 
and  told  her  she  was  “  a  fright.”  Amy  fared  worst  of 
all,  for  her  resources  were  small ;  and  when  her  sisters 
left  her  to  amuse  and  care  for  herself,  she  soon  found 
that  accomplished  and  important  little  self  a  great 
burden.  She  did  n’t  like  dolls,  fairy-tales  were  childish, 
and  one  could  n’t  draw  all  the  time ;  tea-parties  did  n’t 
amount  to  much,  neither  did  picnics,  unless  very  well 
conducted.  “  If  one  could  have  a  fine  house,  full  of 
nice  girls,  or  go  travelling,  the  summer  would  be  delight¬ 
ful;  but  to  stay  at  home  with  three  selfish  sisters  and  a 
grown-up  boy  was  enough  to  try  the  patience  of  a 
Boaz,”  complained  Miss  Malaprop,  after  several  days 
devoted  to  pleasure,  fretting,  and  ennui . 

No  one  would  own  that  they  were  tired  of  the  experi¬ 
ment;  but,  by  Friday  night,  each  acknowledged  to  her¬ 
self  that  she  was  glad  the  week  was  nearly  done. 
Hoping  to  impress  the  lesson  more  deeply,  Mrs.  March, 
who  had  a  good  deal  of  humor,  resolved  to  finish  off 


Experiments  139 

the  trial  in  an  appropriate  manner;  so  she  gave  Hannah 
a  holiday,  and  let  the  girls  enjoy  the  full  effect  of  the 
play  system. 

When  they  got  up  on  Saturday  morning,  there  was 
no  fire  in  the  kitchen,  no  breakfast  in  the  dining-room, 
and  no  mother  anywhere  to  be  seen. 

“Mercy  on  us!  what  has  happened?”  cried  Jo, 
staring  about  her  in  dismay. 

Meg  ran  upstairs,  and  soon  came  back  again,  looking 
relieved,  but  rather  bewildered,  and  a  little  ashamed. 

“  Mother  isn’t  sick,  only  very  tired,  and  she  says  she 
is  going  to  stay  quietly  in  her  room  all  day,  and  let  us 
do  the  best  we  can.  It ’s  a  very  queer  thing  for  her  to 
do,  she  does  n’t  act  a  bit  like  herself;  but  she  says  it  has 
been  a  hard  week  for  her,  so  we  mustn’t  grumble,  but 
take  care  of  ourselves.” 

“  That ’s  easy  enough,  and  I  like  the  idea ;  I ’m  aching 
for  something  to  do  —  that  is,  some  new  amusement, 
you  know,”  added  Jo  quickly. 

In  fact  it  was  an  immense  relief  to  them  all  to  have  a 
little  work,  and  they  took  hold  with  a  will,  but  soon 
realized  the  truth  of  Hannah’s  saying,  “  Housekeeping 
ain’t  no  joke.”  There  was  plenty  of  food  in  the  larder, 
and,  while  Beth  and  Amy  set  the  table,  Meg  and  Jo  got 
breakfast,  wondering,  as  they  did  so,  why  servants  ever 
talked  about  hard  work. 

“  I  shall  take  some  up  to  mother,  though  she  said  we 
were  not  to  think  of  her,  for  she ’d  take  care  of  herself,” 
said  Meg,  who  presided,  and  felt  quite  matronly  behind 
the  teapot. 

So  a  tray  was  fitted  out  before  any  one  began,  and 
taken  up,  with  the  cook’s  compliments.  The  boiled  tea 
was  very  bitter,  the  omelette  scorched,  and  the  biscuits 
speckled  with  saleratus ;  but  Mrs.  March  received  her 


Little  Women 


140 

repast  with  thanks,  and  laughed  heartily  over  it  after  Jo 
was  gone. 

“  Poor  little  souls,  they  will  have  a  hard  time,  I  ’m 
afraid ;  but  they  won’t  suffer,  and  it  will  do  them  good,” 
she  said,  producing  the  more  palatable  viands  with 
which  she  had  provided  herself,  and  disposing  of  the 
bad  breakfast,  so  that  their  feelings  might  not  be 
hurt, — a  motherly  little  deception,  for  which  they 
were  grateful. 

Many  were  the  complaints  below,  and  great  the 
chagrin  of  the  head  cook  at  her  failures.  “  Never  mind, 
I  ’ll  get  the  dinner,  and  be  servant ;  you  be  mistress, 
keep  your  hands  nice,  see  company,  and  give  orders,” 
said  Jo,  who  knew  still  less  than  Meg  about  culinary 
affairs. 

This  obliging  offer  was  gladly  accepted  ;  and  Mar¬ 
garet  retired  to  the  parlor,  which  she  hastily  put  in 
order  by  whisking  the  litter  under  the  sofa,  and  shutting 
the  blinds,  to  save  the  trouble  of  dusting.  Jo,  with  per¬ 
fect  faith  in  her  own  powers,  and  a  friendly  desire  to 
make  up  the  quarrel,  immediately  put  a  note  in  the 
office,  inviting  Laurie  to  dinner. 

“  You  ’d  better  see  what  you  have  got  before  you 
think  of  having  company,”  said  Meg,  when  informed  of 
the  hospitable  but  rash  act. 

“  Oh,  there  ’s  corned  beef  and  plenty  of  potatoes  ;  and 
I  shall  get  some  asparagus,  and  a  lobster,  ‘  for  a  relish,’ 
as  Hannah  says.  We  ’ll  have  lettuce,  and  make  a  salad. 
I  don’t  know  how,  but  the  book  tells.  I  ’ll  have  blanc¬ 
mange  and  strawberries  for  dessert;  and  coffee,  too,  if 
you  want  to  be  elegant.” 

“  Don’t  try  too  many  messes,  Jo,  for  you  can’t  make 
anything  but  gingerbread  and  molasses  candy,  fit  to  eat. 
I  wash  my  hands  of  the  dinner-party;  and,  since  you 


Experiments  14.1 

have  asked  Laurie  on  your  own  responsibility,  you  may 
just  take  care  of  him.” 

“  I  don’t  want  you  to  do  anything  but  be  civil  to  him, 
and  help  to  the  pudding.  You  ’ll  give  me  your  advice 
if  I  get  in  a  muddle,  won’t  you?  ”  asked  Jo,  rather  hurt. 

“  Yes ;  but  I  don’t  know  much,  except  about  bread, 
and  a  few  trifles.  You  had  better  ask  mother’s  leave 
before  you  order  anything,”  returned  Meg  prudently. 

“  Of  course  I  shall ;  I ’m  not  a  fool,”  and  Jo  went  off* 
in  a  huff  at  the  doubts  expressed  of  her  powers. 

“  Get  what  you  like,  and  don’t  disturb  me ;  I ’m  go¬ 
ing  out  to  dinner,  and  can’t  worry  about  things  at 
home,”  said  Mrs.  March,  when  Jo  spoke  to  her.  “  I 
never  enjoyed  housekeeping,  and  I ’m  going  to  take  a 
vacation  to-day,  and  read,  write,  go  visiting,  and  amuse 
myself.” 

The  unusual  spectacle  of  her  busy  mother  rocking 
comfortably,  and  reading,  early  in  the  morning,  made 
Jo  feel  as  if  some  natural  phenomenon  had  occurred ; 
for  an  eclipse,  an  earthquake,  or  a  volcanic  eruption 
would  hardly  have  seemed  stranger. 

“  Everything  is  out  of  sorts,  somehow,”  she  said  to 
herself,  going  down  stairs.  “There’s  Beth  crying; 
that’s  a  sure  sign  that  something  is  wrong  with  this 
family.  If  Amy  is  bothering,  I  ’ll  shake  her.” 

Feeling  very  much  out  of  sorts  herself,  Jo  hurried 
I  into  the  parlor  to  find  Beth  sobbing  over  Pip,  the  canary, 
who  lay  dead  in  the  cage,  with  his  little  claws  pathetic¬ 
ally  extended,  as  if  imploring  the  food  for  want  of  which 
he  had  died. 

“  It ’s  all  my  fault —  I  forgot  him  —  there  is  n’t  a  seed 
or  a  drop  left.  O  Pip  !  O  Pip  !  how  could  I  be  so  cruel 
to  you?  ”  cried  Beth,  taking  the  poor  thing  in  her  hands, 

;  and  trying  to  restore  him. 


Little  Women 


142 

Jo  peeped  into  his  half-open  eye,  felt  his  little  heart, 
and  finding  him  stiff  and  cold,  shook  her  head,  and 
offered  her  domino-box  for  a  coffin. 

“  Put  him  in  the  oven,  and  maybe  he  will  get  warm 
and  revive,”  said  Amy  hopefully. 

“He  ’s  been  starved,  and  he  sha’n’t  be  baked,  now  he ’s 
dead.  I  ’ll  make  him  a  shroud,  and  he  shall  be  buried 
in  the  garden ;  and  I  ’ll  never  have  another  bird,  never, 
my  Pip  !  for  I  am  too  bad  to  own  one,”  murmured 
Beth,  sitting  on  the  floor  with  her  pet  folded  in  her 
hands. 

“  The  funeral  shall  be  this  afternoon,  and  we  will  all 
go.  Now,  don’t  cry,  Bethy;  it’s  a  pity,  but  nothing 
goes  right  this  week,  and  Pip  has  had  the  worst  of  the 
experiment.  Make  the  shroud,  and  lay  him  in  my  box; 
and,  after  the  dinner-party,  we  ’ll  have  a  nice  little 
funeral,”  said  Jo,  beginning  to  feel  as  if  she  had  under¬ 
taken  a  good  deal. 

Leaving  the  others  to  console  Beth,  she  departed  to 
the  kitchen,  which  was  in  a  most  discouraging  state 
of  confusion.  Putting  on  a  big  apron,  she  fell  to  work, 
and  got  the  dishes  piled  up  ready  for  washing,  when  she 
discovered  that  the  fire  was  out. 

“  Here ’s  a  sweet  prospect !  ”  muttered  Jo,  slamming 
the  stove-door  open,  and  poking  vigorously  among  the 
cinders. 

Having  rekindled  the  fire,  she  thought  she  would  go 
to  market  while  the  water  heated.  The  walk  revived  her 
spirits ;  and,  flattering  herself  that  she  had  made  good 
bargains,  she  trudged  home  again,  after  buying  a  very 
young  lobster,  some  very  old  asparagus,  and  two  boxes 
of  acid  strawberries.  By  the  time  she  got  cleared  up, 
the  dinner  arrived,  and  the  stove  was  red-hot.  Hannah 
had  left  a  pan  of  bread  to  rise,  Meg  had  worked  it  up 


Experiments  143 

early,  set  it  on  the  hearth  for  a  second  rising,  and  for¬ 
gotten  it.  Meg  was  entertaining  Sallie  Gardiner  in  the 
parlor,  when  the  door  flew  open,  and  a  floury,  crocky, 
flushed,  and  dishevelled  figure  appeared,  demanding 
tartly,  —  • 

“  I  say,  is  n’t  bread  4  riz  ’  enough  when  it  runs  over  the 
pans  ? ” 

Sallie  began  to  laugh;  but  Meg  nodded,  and  lifted 
her  eyebrows  as  high  as  they  would  go,  which  caused 
the  apparition  to  vanish,  and  put  the  sour  bread  into 
the  oven  without  further  delay.  Mrs.  March  went  out, 
after  peeping  here  and  there  to  see  how  matters  went, 
also  saying  a  word  of  comfort  to  Beth,  who  sat  making 
a  winding-sheet,  while  the  dear  departed  lay  in  state  in 
the  domino-box.  A  strange  sense  of  helplessness  fell 
upon  the  girls  as  the  gray  bonnet  vanished  round  the 
corner;  and  despair  seized  them,  when,  a  few  minutes 
later,  Miss  Crocker  appeared,  and  said  she ’d  come  to 
dinner.  Now,  this  lady  was  a  thin,  yellow  spinster,  with 
a  sharp  nose  and  inquisitive  eyes,  who  saw  everything, 
and  gossiped  about  all  she  saw.  They  disliked  her, 
but  had  been  taught  to  be  kind  to  her,  simply  because 
she  was  old  and  poor,  and  had  few  friends.  So  Meg 
gave  her  the  easy-chair,  and  tried  to  entertain  her,  while 
she  asked  questions,  criticised  everything,  and  told 
stories  of  the  people  whom  she  knew. 

Language  cannot  describe  the  anxieties,  experiences, 
and  exertions  which  Jo  underwent  that  morning;  and 
the  dinner  she  served  up  became  a  standing  joke.  Fear¬ 
ing  to  ask  any  more  advice,  she  did  her  best  alone,  and 
discovered  that  something  more  than  energy  and  good¬ 
will  is  necessary  to  make  a  cook.  She  boiled  the  as¬ 
paragus  for  an  hour,  and  was  grieved  to  find  the  heads 
cooked  off  and  the  stalks  harder  than  ever.  The  bread 


Little  Women 


144 

burnt  black;  for  the  salad-dressing  so  aggravated  her, 
that  she  let  everything  else  go  till  she  had  convinced 
herself  that  she  could  not  make  it  fit  to  eat.  The  lobster 
was  a  scarlet  mystery  to  her,  but  she  hammered  and 
poked,  till  it  was  unshelled,  and  its  meagre  proportions 
concealed  in  a  grove  of  lettuce-leaves.  The  potatoes 
had  to  be  hurried,  not  to  keep  the  asparagus  waiting, 
and  were  not  done  at  last.  The  blanc-mange  was  lumpy, 
and  the  strawberries  not  as  ripe  as  they  looked,  having 
been  skilfully  “  deaconed.” 

“  Well,  they  can  eat  beef,  and  bread  and  butter,  if 
they  are  hungry ;  only  it ’s  mortifying  to  have  to  spend 
your  whole  morning  for  nothing,”  thought  Jo,  as  she 
rang  the  bell  half  an  hour  later  than  usual,  and  stood, 
hot,  tired,  and  dispirited,  surveying  the  feast  spread  for 
Laurie,  accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  elegance,  and  Miss 
Crocker,  whose  curious  eyes  would  mark  all  failures, 
and  whose  tattling  tongue  would  report  them  far  and 
wide. 

Poor  Jo  would  gladly  have  gone  under  the  table,  as 
one  thing  after  another  was  tasted  and  left;  while  Amy 
giggled,  Meg  looked  distressed,  Miss  Crocker  pursed  up 
her  lips,  and  Laurie  talked  and  laughed  with  all  his 
might,  to  give  a  cheerful  tone  to  the  festive  scene.  Jo’s 
one  strong  point  was  the  fruit,  for  she  had  sugared  it 
well,  and  had  a  pitcher  of  rich  cream  to  eat  with  it. 
Her  hot  cheeks  cooled  a  trifle,  and  she  drew  a  long 
breath,  as  the  pretty  glass  plates  went  round,  and  every 
one  looked  graciously  at  the  little  rosy  islands  floating 
in  a  sea  of  cream.  Miss  Crocker  tasted  first,  made  a 
wry  face,  and  drank  some  water  hastily.  Jo,  who  had 
refused,  thinking  there  might  not  be  enough,  for  they 
dwindled  sadly  after  the  picking  over,  glanced  at  Laurie, 
but  he  was  eating  away  manfully,  though  there  was  a 


Experiments  14.5 

slight  pucker  about  his  mouth,  and  he  kept  his  eye  fixed 
on  his  plate.  Amy,  who  was  fond  of  delicate  fare,  took 
a  heaping  spoonful,  choked,  hid  her  face  in  her  napkin, 
and  left  the  table  precipitately. 

“  Oh,  what  is  it?  ”  exclaimed  Jo,  trembling. 

“  Salt  instead  of  sugar,  and  the  cream  is  sour,”  replied 
Meg,  with  a  tragic  gesture. 

Jo  uttered  a  groan,  and  fell  back  in  her  chair;  remem¬ 
bering  that  she  had  given  a  last  hasty  powdering  to  the 
berries  out  of  one  of  the  two  boxes  on  the  kitchen  table, 
and  had  neglected  to  put  the  milk  in  the  refrigerator. 
She  turned  scarlet,  and  was  on  the  verge  of  crying,  when 
she  met  Laurie’s  eyes,  which  would  look  merry  in  spite 
of  his  heroic  efforts ;  the  comical  side  of  the  affair  sud¬ 
denly  struck  her,  and  she  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down 
her  cheeks.  So  did  every  one  else,  even  Croaker,” 
as  the  girls  called  the  old  lady ;  and  the  unfortunate 
dinner  ended  gayly,  with  bread  and  butter,  olives  and 
fun. 

“  I  have  n’t  strength  of  mind  enough  to  clear  up  now, 
so  we  will  sober  ourselves  with  a  funeral,”  said  Jo,  as 
they  rose ;  and  Miss  Crocker  made  ready  to  go,  being 
eager  to  tell  the  new  story  at  another  friend’s  dinner- 
table. 

They  did  sober  themselves,  for  Beth’s  sake ;  Laurie 
dug  a  grave  under  the  ferns  in  the  grove,  little  Pip  was 
laid  in,  with  many  tears,  by  his  tender-hearted  mistress, 
and  covered  with  moss,  while  a  wreath  of  violets  and 
chickweed  was  hung  on  the  stone  which  bore  his  epitaph, 
composed  by  Jo,  while  she  struggled  with  the  dinner:  — * 

“  Here  lies  Pip  March, 

Who  died  the  7th  of  June ; 

Loved  and  lamented  sore, 

And  not  forgotten  soon.” 

10 


Little  Women 


146 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  ceremonies,  Beth  retired  to 
her  room,  overcome  with  emotion  and  lobster;  but  there 
was  no  place  of  repose,  for  the  beds  were  not  made,  and 
she  found  her  grief  much  assuaged  by  beating  up  pillows 
and  putting  things  in  order.  Meg  helped  Jo  clear  away 
the  remains  of  the  feast,  which  took  half  the  afternoon, 
and  left  them  so  tired  that  they  agreed  to  be  contented 
with  tea  and  toast  for  supper.  Laurie  took  Amy  to  drive, 
which  was  a  deed  of  charity,  for  the  sour  cream  seemed 
to  have  had  a  bad  effect  upon  her  temper.  Mrs.  March 
came  home  to  find  the  three  older  girls  hard  at  work  in 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon ;  and  a  glance  at  ,the  closet 
gave  her  an  idea  of  the  success  of  one  part  of  the  ex¬ 
periment. 

Before  the  housewives  could  rest,  several  people  called, 
and  there  was  a  scramble  to  get  ready  to  see  them  ;  then 
tea  must  be  got,  errands  done  ;  and  one  or  two  necessary 
bits  of  sewing  neglected  till  the  last  minute.  As  twilight 
fell,  dewy  and  still,  one  by  one  they  gathered  in  the  porch 
where  the  June  roses  were  budding  beautifully,  and  each 
groaned  or  sighed  as  she  sat  down,  as  if  tired  or  troubled. 

“What  a  dreadful  day  this  has  been!”  begun  Jo, 
usually  the  first  to  speak. 

“  It  has  seemed  shorter  than  usual,  but  so  uncomfort¬ 
able,”  said  Meg. 

“  Not  a  bit  like  home,”  added  Amy. 

“  It  can’t  seem  so  without  Marmee  and  little  Pip,” 
sighed  Beth,  glancing,  with  full  eyes,  at  the  empty  cage 
above  her  head. 

“  Here ’s  mother,  dear,  and  you  shall  have  another 
bird  to-morrow,  if  you  want  it.” 

As  she  spoke,  Mrs.  March  came  and  took  her  place 
among  them,  looking  as  if  her  holiday  had  not  been 
much  pleasanter  than  theirs. 


Experiments  147 

4<s  Are  you  satisfied  with  your  experiment,  girls,  or  do 
you  want  another  week  of  it?  she  asked,  as  Beth 
nestled  up  to  her,  and  the  rest  turned  toward  her  with 
brightening  faces,  as  flowers  turn  toward  the  sun. 

“  I  don’t!  ”  cried  Jo  decidedly. 

“  Nor  I,”  echoed  the  others. 

“  You  think,  then,  that  it  is  better  to  have  a  few  duties, 
and  live  a  little  for  others,  do  you  ?  ” 

“  Lounging  and  larking  does  n’t  pay,”  observed  Jo, 
shaking  her  head.  “  I ’m  tired  of  it,  and  mean  to  go  to 
work  at  something  right  off.” 

“Suppose  you  learn  plain  cooking;  that’s  a  useful 
accomplishment,  which  no  woman  should  be  without,” 
said  Mrs.  March,  laughing  inaudibly  at  the  recollection 
of  Jo's  dinner-party ;  for  she  had  met  Miss  Crocker,  and 
heard  her  account  of  it. 

“  Mother,  did  you  go  away  and  let  everything  be,  just 
to  see  how  we’d  get  on?”  cried  Meg,  who  had  had 
suspicions  all  day. 

“Yes;  I  wanted  you  to  see  how  the  comfort  of  all 
depends  on  each  doing  her  share  faithfully.  While  Han¬ 
nah  and  I  did  your  work,  you  got  on  pretty  well,  though 
I  don’t  think  you  were  very  happy  or  amiable ;  so  I 
thought,  as  a  little  lesson,  I  would  show  you  what  hap¬ 
pens  when  every  one  thinks  only  of  herself.  Don’t  you 
feel  that  it  is  pleasanter  to  help  one  another,  to  have 
daily  duties  which  make  leisure  sweet  when  it  comes, 
and  to  bear  and  forbear,  that  home  may  be  comfortable 
and  lovely  to  us  all?  ” 

“  We  do,  mother,  we  do  !  ”  cried  the  girls. 

“  Then  let  me  advise  you  to  take  up  your  little  burdens 
again ;  for  though  they  seem  heavy  sometimes,  they  are 
good  for  us,  and  lighten  as  we  learn  to  carry  them. 
Work  is  wholesome,  and  there  is  plenty  for  every  one; 


Little  Women 


148 

it  keeps  us  from  ennui  and  mischief,  is  good  for  health 
and  spirits,  and  gives  us  a  sense  of  power  and  indepen¬ 
dence  better  than  money  or  fashion.” 

“We’ll  work  like  bees,  and  love  it  too;  see  if  we 
don’t!  ”  said  Jo.  “  I’ll  learn  plain  cooking  for  my  holi¬ 
day  task ;  and  the  next  dinner-party  I  have  shall  be  a 
success.” 

“  I  ’ll  make  the  set  of  shirts  for  father,  instead  of  letting 
you  do  it,  Marmee.  I  can  and  I  will,  though  I ’m  not 
fond  of  sewing;  that  will  be  better  than  fussing  over  my 
own  things,  which  are  plenty  nice  enough  as  they  are,” 
said  Meg. 

“  I  ’ll  do  my  lessons  every  day,  and  not  spend  so  much 
time  with  my  music  and  dolls.  I  am  a  stupid  thing,  and 
ought  to  be  studying,  not  playing,”  was  Beth’s  resolu¬ 
tion  ;  while  Amy  followed  their  example  by  heroically 
declaring,  “  I  shall  learn  to  make  buttonholes,  and  attend 
to  my  parts  of  speech.” 

“Very  good!  then  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  the  ex¬ 
periment,  and  fancy  that  we  shall  not  have  to  repeat  it ; 
only  don’t  go  to  the  other  extreme,  and  delve  like  slaves. 
Have  regular  hours  for  work  and  play ;  make  each  day 
both  useful  and  pleasant,  and  prove  that  you  understand 
the  worth  of  time  by  employing  it  well.  Then  youth 
will  be  delightful,  old  age  will  bring  few  regrets,  and  life 
become  a  beautiful  success,  in  spite  of  poverty.” 

“  We  ’ll  remember,  mother  !  ”  and  they  did. 


Camp  Laurence 


149 


CHAPTER  XII 

CAMP  LAURENCE 

Beth  was  post-mistress,  for,  being  most  at  home, 
she  could  attend  to  it  regularly,  and  dearly  liked 
the  daily  task  of  unlocking  the  little  door  and  dis¬ 
tributing  the  mail.  One  July  day  she  came  in  with  her 
hands  full,  and  went  about  the  house  leaving  letters  and 
parcels,  like  the  penny  post. 

“  Here  ’s  your  posy,  mother  !  Laurie  never  forgets 
that,”  she  said,  putting  the  fresh  nosegay  in  the  vase  that 
stood  in  “  Marmee’s  corner,”  and  was  kept  supplied  by 
the  affectionate  boy. 

“  Miss  Meg  March,  one  letter  and  a  glove,”  continued 
Beth,  delivering  the  articles  to  her  sister,  who  sat  near 
her  mother,  stitching  wristbands. 

“  Why,  I  left  a  pair  over  there,  and  here  is  only  one,” 
said  Meg,  looking  at  the  gray  cotton  glove. 

“  Did  n’t  you  drop  the  other  in  the  garden?  ” 

“  No,  I ’m  sure  I  did  n’t ;  for  there  was  only  one  in  the 
office.” 

“  I  hate  to  have  odd  gloves  !  Never  mind,  the  other 
may  be  found.  My  letter  is  only  a  translation  of  the 
German  song  I  wanted;  I  think  Mr.  Brooke  did  it,  for 
this  is  n’t  Laurie’s  writing.” 

Mrs.  March  glanced  at  Meg,  who  was  looking  very 
pretty  in  her  gingham  morning-gown,  with  the  little  curls 
blowing  about  her  forehead,  and  very  womanly,  as  she  sat 
sewing  at  her  little  work-table,  full  of  tidy  white  rolls  ;  so 
unconscious  of  the  thought  in  her  mother’s  mind  as  she 
sewed  and  sung,  while  her  fingers  flew,  and  her  thoughts 
were  busied  with  girlish  fancies  as  innocent  and  fresh  as 


i^o  Little  Women 

the  pansies  in  her  belt,  that  Mrs.  March  smiled,  and  was 
satisfied. 

“Two  letters  for  Doctor  Jo,  a  book,  and  a  funny  old 
hat,  which  covered  the  whole  post-office,  stuck  outside,” 
said  Beth,  laughing,  as  she  went  into  the  study,  where  Jo 
sat  writing. 

“What  a  sly  fellow  Laurie  is  !  I  said  I  wished  bigger 
hats  were  the  fashion,  because  I  burn  my  face  every  hot 
day.  He  said,  ‘Why  mind  the  fashion?  Wear  a  big  hat, 
and  be  comfortable  !  ’  I  said  I  would  if  I  had  one,  and 
he  has  sent  me  this,  to  try  me.  I  ’ll  wear  it,  for  fun,  and 
show  him  I  don't  care  for  the  fashion ;  ”  and,  hangingthe 
antique  broad-brim  on  a  bust  of  Plato,  Jo  read  her 
letters. 

One  from  her  mother  made  her  cheeks  glow  and  her 
eyes  fill,  for  it  said  to  her,  — 

“  My  dear  : 

“  I  write  a  little  word  to  tell  you  with  how  much  satisfaction 
I  watch  your  efforts  to  control  your  temper.  You  say  nothing 
about  your  trials,  failures,  or  successes,  and  think,  perhaps,  that 
no  one  sees  them  but  the  Friend  whose  help  you  daily  ask,  if 
I  may  trust  the  well-worn  cover  of  your  guide-book.  /,  too, 
have  seen  them  all,  and  heartily  believe  in  the  sincerity  of 
your  resolution,  since  it  begins  to  bear  fruit.  Go  on,  dear, 
patiently  and  bravely,  and  always  believe  that  no  one  sympa¬ 
thizes  more  tenderly  with  you  than  your  loving 

“  Mother.” 

“  That  does  me  good  !  that ’s  worth  millions  of  money 
and  pecks  of  praise.  O  Marmee,  I  do  try !  I  will  keep 
on  trying,  and  not  get  tired,  since  I  have  you  to  help 
me.” 

Laying  her  head  on  her  arms,  Jo  wet  her  little  romance 
with  a  few  happy  tears,  for  she  had  thought  that  no  one 


Camp  Laurence  15  i 

saw  and  appreciated  her  efforts  to  be  good ;  and  this 
assurance  was  doubly  precious,  doubly  encouraging,  be¬ 
cause  unexpected,  and  from  the  person  whose  commen¬ 
dation  she  most  valued.  Feeling  stronger  than  ever  to 
meet  and  subdue  her  Apollyon,  she  pinned  the  note  in¬ 
side  her  frock,  as  a  shield  and  a  reminder,  lest  she  be 
taken  unaware,  and  proceeded  to  open  her  other  letter, 
quite  ready  for  either  good  or  bad  news.  In  a  big,  dash¬ 
ing  hand,  Laurie  wrote,  — - 

“  Dear  Jo, 

What  ho  ! 

Some  English  girls  and  boys  are  coming  to  see  me  to-morrow 
and  I  want  to  have  a  jolly  time.  If  it ’s  fine,  I ’m  going  to 
pitch  my  tent  in  Longmeadow,  and  row  up  the  whole  crew  to 
lunch  and  croquet,  —  have  a  fire,  make  messes,  gypsy  fashion, 
and  all  sorts  of  larks.  They  are  nice  people,  and  like  such 
things.  Brooke  will  go,  to  keep  us  boys  steady,  and  Kate 
Vaughn  will  play  propriety  for  the  girls.  I  want  you  all  to 
come  ;  can’t  let  Beth  off,  at  any  price,  and  nobody  shall  worry 
her.  Don’t  bother  about  rations,  —  I  ’ll  see  to  that,  and  every¬ 
thing  else,  —  only  do  come,  there ’s  a  good  fellow  ! 

“  In  a  tearing  hurry, 

Yours  ever,  Laurie.” 

“  Here ’s  richness  !  ”  cried  Jo,  flying  in  to  tell  the  news 
to  Meg. 

“  Of  course  we  can  go,  mother?  it  will  be  such  a  help 
to  Laurie,  for  I  can  row,  and  Meg  see  to  the  lunch,  and 
the  children  be  useful  in  some  way.” 

“  I  hope  the  Vaughns  are  not  fine,  grown-up  people. 
Do  you  know  anything  about  them,  Jo?”  asked  Meg. 

“  Only  that  there  are  four  of  them.  Kate  is  older  than 
you,  Fred  and  Frank  (twins)  about  my  age,  and  a  little 
girl  (Grace),  who  is  nine  or  ten.  Laurie  knew  them 


Little  Women 


x52 

abroad,  and  liked  the  boys ;  I  fancied,  from  the  way  he 
primmed  up  his  mouth  in  speaking  of  her,  that  he  did  n’t 
admire  Kate  much.” 

“  I ’m  so  glad  my  French  print  is  clean  ;  it ’s  just  the 
thing,  and  so  becoming !  ”  observed  Meg  complacently. 
“  Have  you  anything  decent,  Jo?  ” 

“  Scarlet  and  gray  boating  suit,  good  enough  for  me. 
I  shall  row  and  tramp  about,  so  I  don’t  want  any  starch 
to  think  of.  You  ’ll  come,  Betty?  ” 

“  If  you  won’t  let  any  of  the  boys  talk  to  me.” 

“  Not  a  boy  !  ” 

“  I  like  to  please  Laurie ;  and  I ’m  not  afraid  of  Mr. 
Brooke,  he  is  so  kind ;  but  I  don’t  want  to  play,  or  sing, 
or  say  anything.  I  ’ll  work  hard,  and  not  trouble  any 
one ;  and  you  ’ll  take  care  of  me,  Jo,  so  I  ’ll  go.” 

“  That ’s  my  good  girl ;  you  do  try  to  fight  off  your 
shyness,  and  I  love  you  for  it.  Fighting  faults  is  n’t 
easy,  as  I  know;  and  a  cheery  word  kind  of  gives  a  lift. 
Thank  you,  mother,”  and  Jo  gave  the  thin  cheek  a  grate¬ 
ful  kiss,  more  precious  to  Mrs.  March  than  if  it  had  given 
back  the  rosy  roundness  of  her  youth. 

“  I  had  a  box  of  chocolate  drops,  and  the  picture  I 
wanted  to  copy,”  said  Amy,  showing  her  mail. 

“  And  I  got  a  note  from  Mr.  Laurence,  asking  me  to 
come  over  and  play  to  him  to-night,  before  the  lamps  are 
lighted,  and  I  shall  go,”  added  Beth,  whose  friendship 
with  the  old  gentleman  prospered  finely. 

“  Now  let ’s  fly  round,  and  do  double  duty  to-day,  so 
that  we  can  play  to-morrow  with  free  minds,”  said  Jo, 
preparing  to  replace  her  pen  with  a  broom. 

When  the  sun  peeped  into  the  girls’  room  early  next 
morning,  to  promise  them  a  fine  day,  he  saw  a  comical 
sight.  Each  had  made  such  preparation  for  the  ffte  as 
seemed  necessary  and  proper.  Meg  had  an  extra  row 


Camp  Laurence  153 

of  little  curl-papers  across  her  forehead,  Jo  had  copiously 
anointed  her  afflicted  face  with  cold  cream,  Beth  had  taken 
Joanna  to  bed  with  her  to  atone  for  the  approaching  sep¬ 
aration,  and  Amy  had  capped  the  climax  by  putting  a 
clothes-pin  on  her  nose,  to  uplift  the  offending  feature. 
It  was  one  of  the  kind  artists  use  to  hold  the  paper  on 
their  drawing-boards,  therefore  quite  appropriate  and 
effective  for  the  purpose  to  which  it  was  now  put.  This 
funny  spectacle  appeared  to  amuse  the  sun,  for  he  burst 
out  with  such  radiance  that  Jo  woke  up,  and  roused  all 
her  sisters  by  a  hearty  laugh  at  Amy’s  ornament. 

Sunshine  and  laughter  were  good  omens  for  a  pleasure 
party,  and  soon  a  lively  bustle  began  in  both  houses. 
Beth,  who  was  ready  first,  kept  reporting  what  went  on 
next  door,  and  enlivened  her  sisters’  toilets  by  frequent 
telegrams  from  the  window. 

“  There  goes  the  man  with  the  tent !  I  see  Mrs.  Barker 
doing  up  the  lunch  in  a  hamper  and  a  great  basket. 
Now  Mr.  Laurence  is  looking  up  at  the  sky,  and  the 
weathercock ;  I  wish  he  would  go,  too.  There  ’s  Laurie, 
looking  like  a  sailor,  —  nice  boy  !  Oh,  mercy  me  !  here ’s 
a  carriage  full  of  people  —  a  tall  lady,  a  little  girl,  and 
two  dreadful  boys.  One  is  lame  ;  poor  thing,  he ’s  got  a 
crutch.  Laurie  did  n’t  tell  us  that.  Be  quick,  girls  !  it ’s 
getting  late.  Why,  there  is  Ned  Moffat,  I  do  declare. 
Look,  Meg,  is  n’t  that  the  man  who  bowed  to  you  one 
day,  when  we  were  shopping?” 

“  So  it  is.  How  queer  that  he  should  come.  I  thought 
he  was  at  the  Mountains.  There  is  Sallie ;  I ’m  glad  she 
got  back  in  time.  Am  I  all  right,  Jo?”  cried  Meg,  in 
a  flutter. 

“  A  regular  daisy.  Hold  up  your  dress  and  put  your 
hat  straight;  it  looks  sentimental  tipped  that  way,  and 
will  fly  off  at  the  first  puff.  Now,  then,  come  on !  ” 


Little  Women 


1  54 

“  O  Jo,  you  are  not  going  to  wear  that  awful  hat  ? 
It ’s  too  absurd  !  You  shall  not  make  a  guy  of  yourself,” 
remonstrated  Meg,  as  Jo  tied  down,  with  a  red  ribbon, 
the  broad-brimmed,  old-fashioned  Leghorn  Laurie  had 
sent  for  a  joke. 

“  I  just  will,  though,  for  it ’s  capital,  —  so  shady,  light, 
and  big.  It  will  make  fun  ;  and  I  don’t  mind  being  a  guy 
if  I ’m  comfortable.”  With  that  Jo  marched  straight 
away,  and  the  rest  followed,  —  a  bright  little  band  of  sis¬ 
ters,  all  looking  their  best,  in  summer  suits,  with  happy 
faces  under  the  jaunty  hat-brims. 

Laurie  ran  to  meet,  and  present  them  to  his  friends, 
in  the  most  cordial  manner.  The  lawn  was  the  reception- 
room,  and  for  several  minutes  a  lively  scene  was  enacted 
there.  Meg  was  grateful  to  see  that  Miss  Kate,  though 
twenty,  was  dressed  with  a  simplicity  which  American 
girls  would  do  well  to  imitate  ;  and  she  was  much  flattered 
by  Mr.  Ned’s  assurances  that  he  came  especially  to 
see  her.  Jo  understood  why  Laurie  “  primmed  up  his 
mouth  ”  when  speaking  of  Kate,  for  that  young  lady  had 
a  stand-off-don’t-touch-me  air,  which  contrasted  strongly 
with  the  free  and  easy  demeanor  of  the  other  girls.  Beth 
took  an  observation  of  the  new  boys,  and  decided  that 
the  lame  one  was  not  “  dreadful,”  but  gentle  and  feeble, 
and  she  would  be  kind  to  him  on  that  account.  Amy 
found  Grace  a  well-mannered,  merry  little  person ;  and 
after  staring  dumbly  at  one  another  for  a  few  minutes, 
they  suddenly  became  very  good  friends. 

Tents,  lunch,  and  croquet  utensils  having  been  sent  on 
beforehand,  the  party  was  soon  embarked,  and  the  two 
boats  pushed  off  together,  leaving  Mr.  Laurence  waving 
his  hat  on  the  shore.  Laurie  and  Jo  rowed  one  boat; 
Mr.  Brooke  and  Ned  the  other;  while  Fred  Vaughn,  the 
riotous  twin,  did  his  best  to  upset  both  by  paddling  about 


Camp  Laurence  *55 

in  a  wherry  like  a  disturbed  water-bug.  Jo’s  funny  hat 
deserved  a  vote  of  thanks,  for  it  was  of  general  utility ;  it 
broke  the  ice  in  the  beginning,  by  producing  a  laugh; 
it  created  quite  a  refreshing  breeze,  flapping  to  and  fro, 
as  she  rowed,  and  would  make  an  excellent  umbrella  for 
the  whole  party,  if  a  shower  came  up,  she  said.  Kate 
looked  rather  amazed  at  Jo’s  proceedings,  especially  as 
she  exclaimed  “  Christopher  Columbus  !  ”  when  she  lost 
her  oar ;  and  Laurie  said,  “  My  dear  fellow,  did  I  hurt 
you?”  when  he  tripped  over  her  feet  in  taking  his 
place.  But  after  putting  up  her  glass  to  examine  the 
queer  girl  several  times,  Miss  Kate  decided  that  she  was 
“  odd,  but  rather  clever,”  and  smiled  upon  her  from 
afar. 

Meg,  in  the  other  boat,  was  delightfully  situated,  face 
to  face  with  the  rowers,  who  both  admired  the  prospect, 
and  feathered  their  oars  with  uncommon  “  skill  and  dex¬ 
terity.”  Mr.  Brooke  was  a  grave,  silent  young  man, 
with  handsome  brown  eyes  and  a  pleasant  voice.  Meg 
liked  his  quiet  manners,  and  considered  him  a  walking 
encyclopaedia  of  useful  knowledge.  He  never  talked  to 
her  much ;  but  he  looked  at  her  a  good  deal,  and  she 
felt  sure  that  he  did  not  regard  her  with  aversion.  Ned, 
being  in  college,  of  course  put  on  all  the  airs  which 
Freshmen  think  it  their  bounden  duty  to  assume;  he 
was  not  very  wise,  but  very  good-natured,  and  altogether 
an  excellent  person  to  carry  on  a  picnic.  Sallie  Gardiner 
was  absorbed  in  keeping  her  white  pique  dress  clean, 
and  chattering  with  the  ubiquitous  Fred,  who  kept  Beth 
in  constant  terror  by  his  pranks. 

It  was  not  far  to  Longmeadow  ;  but  the  tent  was 
pitched  and  the  wickets  down  by  the  time  they  arrived. 
A  pleasant  green  field,  with  three  wide-spreading  oaks 
in  the  middle,  and  a  smooth  strip  of  turf  for  croquet. 


Little  Women 


*56 

“  Welcome  to  Camp  Laurence  !  ”  said  the  young  host, 
as  they  landed,  with  exclamations  of  delight. 

“Brooke  is  commander-in-chief;  I  am  commissary- 
general  ;  the  other  fellows  are  staff-officers  ;  and  you, 
ladies,  are  company.  The  tent  is  for  your  especial  bene¬ 
fit,  and  that  oak  is  your  drawing-room ;  this  is  the  mess- 
room,  and  the  third  is  the  camp-kitchen.  Now,  let ’s 
have  a  game  before  it  gets  hot,  and  then  we  ’ll  see  about 
dinner.” 

Frank,  Beth,  Amy,  and  Grace  sat  down  to  watch  the 
game  played  by  the  other  eight.  Mr.  Brooke  chose  Meg, 
Kate,  and  Fred;  Laurie  took  Sallie,  Jo,  and  Ned.  The 
Englishers  played  well ;  but  the  Americans  played  better, 
and  contested  every  inch  of  the  ground  as  strongly  as  if 
the  spirit  of  ’76  inspired  them.  Jo  and  Fred  had  several 
skirmishes,  and  once  narrowly  escaped  high  words.  Jo 
was  through  the  last  wicket,  and  had  missed  the  stroke, 
which  failure  ruffled  her  a  good  deal.  Fred  was  close 
behind  her,  and  his  turn  came  before  hers ;  he  gave  a 
stroke,  his  ball  hit  the  wicket,  and  stopped  an  inch  on 
the  wrong  side.  No  one  was  very  near ;  and  running  up 
to  examine,  he  gave  it  a  sly  nudge  with  his  toe,  which 
put  it  just  an  inch  on  the  right  side. 

“  I ’m  through !  Now,  Miss  Jo,  I  ’ll  settle  you,  and 
get  in  first,”  cried  the  young  gentleman,  swinging  his 
mallet  for  another  blow. 

“  You  pushed  it;  I  saw  you;  it’s  my  turn  now,”  said 
Jo  sharply. 

“Upon  my  word,  I  didn’t  move  it;  it  rolled  a  bit, 
perhaps,  but  that  is  allowed ;  so  stand  off,  please,  and 
let  me  have  a  go  at  the  stake.” 

“  We  don’t  cheat  in  America,  but  you  can,  if  you 
choose,”  said  Jo  angrily. 

“  Yankees  are  a  deal  the  most  tricky,  everybody 


Camp  Laurence  *57 

knows.  There  you  go!”  returned  Fred,  croqueting 
her  ball  far  away. 

Jo  opened  her  lips  to  say  something  rude,  but  checked 
herself  in  time,  colored  up  to  her  forehead,  and  stood  a 
minute,  hammering  down  a  wicket  with  all  her  might, 
while  Fred  hit  the  stake,  and  declared  himself  out  with 
much  exultation.  She  went  off  to  get  her  ball,  and  was 
a  long  time  finding  it,  among  the  bushes ;  but  she  came 
back,  looking  cool  and  quiet,  and  waited  her  turn  pa¬ 
tiently.  It  took  several  strokes  to  regain  the  place  she 
had  lost ;  and,  when  she  got  there,  the  other  side  had 
nearly  won,  for  Kate’s  ball  was  the  last  but  one,  and  lay 
near  the  stake. 

®‘  By  George,  it ’s  all  up  with  us !  Good-by,  Kate. 
Miss  Jo  owes  me  one,  so  you  are  finished,”  cried  Fred 
excitedly,  as  they  all  drew  near  to  see  the  finish. 

“  Yankees  have  a  trick  of  being  generous  to  their 
enemies,”  said  Jo,  with  a  look  that  made  the  lad  redden, 
“  especially  when  they  beat  them,”  she  added,  as,  leav¬ 
ing  Kate’s  ball  untouched,  she  won  the  game  by  a  clever 
stroke. 

Laurie  threw  up  his  hat;  then  remembered  that  it 
would  n’t  do  to  exult  over  the  defeat  of  his  guests,  and 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  cheer  to  whisper  to  his 
friend,  — 

“Good  for  you,  Jo!  He  did  cheat,  I  saw  him;  we 
can’t  tell  him  so,  but  he  won’t  do  it  again,  take  my  word 
for  it.” 

Meg  drew  her  aside,  under  pretence  of  pinning  up  a 
loose  braid,  and  said  approvingly,  — 

“It  was  dreadfully  provoking;  but  you  kept  your 
temper,  and  I  ’m  so  glad,  Jo.” 

“  Don’t  praise  me,  Meg,  for  I  could  box  his  ears  this 
minute.  I  should  certainly  have  boiled  over  if  I  had  n’t 


Little  Women 


158 

stayed  among  the  nettles  till  I  got  my  rage  under  enough 
to  hold  my  tongue.  It ’s  simmering  now,  so  I  hope 
he  ’ll  keep  out  of  my  way,”  returned  Jo,  biting  her  lips, 
as  she  glowered  at  Fred  from  under  her  big  hat. 

“Time  for  lunch,”  said  Mr.  Brooke,  looking  at  his 
watch.  “  Commissary-general,  will  you  make  the  fire 
and  get  water,  while  Miss  March,  Miss  Sallie,  and  I 
spread  the  table?  Who  can  make  good  coffee?” 

“Jo  can,”  said  Meg,  glad  to  recommend  her  sister. 
So  Jo,  feeling  that  her  late  lessons  in  cookery  were  to 
do  her  honor,  went  to  preside  over  the  coffee-pot,  while 
the  children  collected  dry  sticks,  and  the  boys  made  a 
fire,  and  got  water  from  a  spring  near  by.  Miss  Kate 
sketched,  and  Frank  talked  to  Beth,  who  was  making 
little  mats  of  braided  rushes  to  serve  as  plates. 

The  commander-in-chief  and  his  aids  soon  spread  the 
table-cloth  with  an  inviting  array  of  eatables  and  drink¬ 
ables,  prettily  decorated  with  green  leaves.  Jo  an¬ 
nounced  that  the  coffee  was  ready,  and  every  one  settled 
themselves  to  a  hearty  meal ;  for  youth  is  seldom  dys¬ 
peptic,  and  exercise  develops  wholesome  appetites.  A 
very  merry  lunch  it  was;  for  everything  seemed  fresh 
and  funny,  and  frequent  peals  of  laughter  startled  a  ven¬ 
erable  horse  who  fed  near  by.  There  was  a  pleasing  ine¬ 
quality  in  the  table,  which  produced  many  mishaps  to 
cups  and  plates  ;  acorns  dropped  into  the  milk,  little  black 
ants  partook  of  the  refreshments  without  being  invited, 
and  fuzzy  caterpillars  swung  down  from  the  tree,  to  see 
what  was  going  on.  Three  white-headed  children  peeped 
over  the  fence,  and  an  objectionable  dog  barked  at  them 
from  the  other  side  of  the  river  with  all  his  might  and 
main. 

“  There  ’s  salt  here,  if  you  prefer  it,”  said  Laurie,  as  he 
handed  Jo  a  saucer  of  berries. 


Camp  Laurence  159 

“  Thank  you,  I  prefer  spiders,”  she  replied,  fishing  up 
two  unwary  little  ones  who  had  gone  to  a  creamy  death. 
“  How  dare  you  remind  me  of  that  horrid  dinner-party, 
when  yours  is  so  nice  in  every  way?  ”  added  Jo,  as  they 
both  laughed,  and  ate  out  of  one  plate,  the  china  having 
run  short. 

“  I  had  an  uncommonly  good  time  that  day,  and 
have  n’t  got  over  it  yet.  This  is  no  credit  to  me,  you 
know;  I  don’t  do  anything;  it’s  you  and  Meg  and 
Brooke  who  make  it  go,  and  I  ’m  no  end  obliged  to  you. 
What  shall  we  do  when  we  can’t  eat  any  more?”  asked 
Laurie,  feeling  that  his  trump  card  had  been  played  when 
lunch  was  over. 

“  Have  games,  till  it’s  cooler.  I  brought  ‘Authors,’ 
and  I  dare  say  Miss  Kate  knows  something  new  and 
nice.  Go  and  ask  her ;  she ’s  company,  and  you  ought 
to  stay  with  her  more.” 

“Aren’t  you  company  too?  I  thought  she’d  suit 
Brooke;  but  he  keeps  talking  to  Meg,  and  Kate  just 
stares  at  them  through  that  ridiculous  glass  of  hers. 
I ’m  going,  so  you  need  n’t  try  to  preach  propriety,  for 
you  can’t  do  it,  Jo.” 

Miss  Kate  did  know  several  new  games;  and  as  the 
girls  would  not,  and  the  boys  could  not,  eat  any  more, 
they  all  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room  to  play  “  Rig¬ 
marole.” 

“  One  person  begins  a  story,  any  nonsense  you  like, 
and  tells  as  long  as  he  pleases,  only  taking  care  to  stop 
short  at  some  exciting  point,  when  the  next  takes  it  up 
and  does  the  same.  It ’s  very  funny  when  well  done, 
and  makes  a  perfect  jumble  of  tragical  comical  stuff  to 
laugh  over.  Please  start  it,  Mr.  Brooke,”  said  Kate,  with 
a  commanding  air,  which  surprised  Meg,  who  treated 
the  tutor  with  as  much  respect  as  any  other  gentleman 


Little  Women 


1 60 

Lying  on  the  grass  at  the  feet  of  the  two  young  ladies, 
Mr.  Brooke  obediently  began  the  story,  with  the  hand¬ 
some  brown  eyes  steadily  fixed  upon  the  sunshiny  river. 

“  Once  on  a  time,  a  knight  went  out  into  the  world 
to  seek  his  fortune,  for  he  had  nothing  but  his  sword 
and  his  shield.  He  travelled  a  long  while,  nearly  eight- 
and-twenty  years,  and  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  till  he 
came  to  the  palace  of  a  good  old  king,  who  had  offered 
a  reward  to  any  one  who  would  tame  and  train  a  fine  but 
unbroken  colt,  of  which  he  was  very  fond.  The  knight 
agreed  to  try,  and  got  on  slowly  but  surely;  for  the  colt 
was  a  gallant  fellow,  and  soon  learned  to  love  his  new 
master,  though  he  was  freakish  and  wild.  Every  day, 
when  he  gave  his  lessons  to  this  pet  of  the  king’s,  the 
knight  rode  him  through  the  city;  and,  as  he  rode,  he 
looked  everywhere  for  a  certain  beautiful  face,  which  he 
had  seen  many  times  in  his  dreams,  but  never  found. 
One  day,  as  he  went  prancing  down  a  quiet  street,  he 
saw  at  the  window  of  a  ruinous  castle  the  lovely  face. 
He  was  delighted,  inquired  who  lived  in  this  old  castle, 
and  was  told  that  several  captive  princesses  were  kept 
there  by  a  spell,  and  spun  ail  day  to  lay  up  money  to 
buy  their  liberty.  The  knight  wished  intensely  that  he 
could  free  them ;  but  he  was  poor,  and  could  only  go  by 
each  day,  watching  for  the  sweet  face,  and  longing  to  see 
it  out  in  the  sunshine.  At  last  he  resolved  to  get  into 
the  castle  and  ask  how  he  could  help  them.  He  went 
and  knocked;  the  great  door  flew  open,  and  he  be¬ 
held—” 

“  A  ravishingly  lovely  lady,  who  exclaimed,  with  a  cry 
of  rapture,  ‘  At  last !  at  last !  ’  ”  continued  Kate,  who  had 
read  French  novels,  and  admired  the  style.  “‘Tis 
she  !  ’  cried  Count  Gustave,  and  fell  at  her  feet  in  an 
ecstasy  of  joy.  ‘  Oh,  rise  !  ’  she  said,  extending  a  hand 


Camp  Laurence  161 

of  marble  fairness.  ‘  Never !  till  you  tell  me  how  1 
may  rescue  you,’  swore  the  knight,  still  kneeling. 

4  Alas,  my  cruel  fate  condemns  me  to  remain  here  till 
my  tyrant  is  destroyed.’  ‘Where  is  the  villain?’  ‘In 
the  mauve  salon.  Go,  brave  heart,  and  save  me  from 
despair.’  ‘  I  obey,  and  return  victorious  or  dead  !  ’ 
With  these  thrilling  words  he  rushed  away,  and  fling¬ 
ing  open  the  door  of  the  mauve  salon,  was  about  to 
enter,  when  he  received  —  ” 

“  A  stunning  blow  from  the  big  Greek  lexicon,  which 
an  old  fellow  in  a  black  gown  fired  at  him,”  said  Ned. 
“  Instantly  Sir  What  ’s-his-name  recovered  himself, 
pitched  the  tyrant  out  of  the  window,  and  turned  to 
join  the  lady,  victorious,  but  with  a  bump  on  his  brow; 
found  the  door  locked,  tore  up  the  curtains,  made  a  rope 
ladder,  got  half-way  down  when  the  ladder  broke,  and 
he  went  head  first  into  the  moat,  sixty  feet  below. 
Could  swim  like  a  duck,  paddled  round  the  castle  till 
he  came  to  a  little  door  guarded  by  two  stout  fellows ; 
knocked  their  heads  together  till  they  cracked  like  a 
couple  of  nuts,  then,  by  a  trifling  exertion  of  his  pro¬ 
digious  strength,  he  smashed  in  the  door,  went  up  a  pair 
of  stone  steps  covered  with  dust  a  foot  thick,  toads  as  big 
as  your  fist,  and  spiders  that  would  frighten  you  into 
hysterics,  Miss  March.  At  the  top  of  these  steps  he 
came  plump  upon  a  sight  that  took  his  breath  away  and 
chilled  his  blood  —  ” 

“  A  tall  figure,  all  in  white  with  a  veil  over  its  face 
and  a  lamp  in  its  wasted  hand,”  went  on  Meg.  “  It 
beckoned,  gliding  noiselessly  before  him  down  a  corri¬ 
dor  as  dark  and  cold  as  any  tomb.  Shadowy  effigies  in 
armor  stood  on  either  side,  a  dead  silence  reigned,  the 
lamp  burned  blue,  and  the  ghostly  figure  ever  and  anon 
turned  its  face  toward  him,  showing  the  glitter  of  awful 

ii 


i62 


Little  Women 


eyes  through  its  white  veil.  They  reached  a  curtained 
door,  behind  which  sounded  lovely  music;  he  sprang 
forward  to  enter,  but  the  spectre  plucked  him  back,  and 
waved  threateningly  before  him  a  —  ” 

“  Snuff-box,”  said  Jo,  in  a  sepulchral  tone,  which  con¬ 
vulsed  the  audience.  “‘Thankee,’  said  the  knight  po¬ 
litely,  as  he  took  a  pinch,  and  sneezed  seven  times  so 
violently  that  his  head  fell  off.  ‘  Ha !  ha !  laughed  the 
ghost;  and  having  peeped  through  the  key-hole  at  the 
princesses  spinning  away  for  dear  life,  the  evil  spirit 
picked  up  her  victim  and  put  him  in  a  large  tin  box,  where 
there  were  eleven  other  knights  packed  together  without 
their  heads,  like  sardines,  who  all  rose  and  began  to  —  ” 

“  Dance  a  hornpipe,”  cut  in  Fred,  as  Jo  paused  for 
breath ;  “  and,  as  they  danced,  the  rubbishy  old  castle 
turned  to  a  man-of-war  in  full  sail.  ‘  Up  with  the  jib, 
reef  the  tops’l  halliards,  helm  hard  a  lee,  and  man  the 
guns  !  ’  roared  the  captain,  as  a  Portuguese  pirate  hove  in 
sight,  with  a  flag  black  as  ink  flying  from  her  foremast. 
‘  Go  in  and  win,  my  hearties  !  ’  says  the  captain ;  and  a 
tremendous  fight  begun.  Of  course  the  British  beat; 
they  always  do.” 

“  No,  they  don’t!  ”  cried  Jo,  aside. 

“  Having  taken  the  pirate  captain  prisoner,  sailed  slap 
over  the  schooner,  whose  decks  were  piled  with  dead,  and 
whose  lee-scuppers  ran  blood,  for  the  order  had  been 
‘  Cutlasses,  and  die  hard  !  ’  ‘  Bosen’s  mate,  take  a 

bight  of  the  flying-jib  sheet,  and  start  this  villain  if  he 
don’t  confess  his  sins  double  quick,’  said  the  British  cap¬ 
tain.  The  Portuguese  held  his  tongue  like  a  brick,  and 
walked  the  plank,  while  the  jolly  tars  cheered  like 
mad.  But  the  sly  dog  dived,  came  up  under  the  man- 
of-war,  scuttled  her,  and  down  she  went,  with  all  sail  set, 
‘  To  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  sea,  sea,’  where  —  ” 


Camp  Laurence  163 

“  Oh,  gracious  !  what  shall  I  say?”  cried  Sallie,  as 
Fred  ended  his  rigmarole,  in  which  he  had  jumbled 
together,  pell-mell,  nautical  phrases  and  facts,  out  of 
one  of  his  favorite  books.  “  Well,  they  went  to  the  bot¬ 
tom,  and  a  nice  mermaid  welcomed  them,  but  was  much 
grieved  on  finding  the  box  of  headless  knights,  and 
kindly  pickled  them  in  brine,  hoping  to  discover  the 
mystery  about  them ;  for,  being  a  woman,  she  was 
curious.  By  and  by  a  diver  came  down,  and  the  mer¬ 
maid  said,  ‘  I  ’ll  give  you  this  box  of  pearls  if  you  can 
take  it  up  ;  for  she  wanted  to  restore  the  poor  things  to 
life,  and  could  n’t  raise  the  heavy  load  herself.  So  the 
diver  hoisted  it  up,  and  was  much  disappointed,  on  open¬ 
ing  it,  to  find  no  pearls.  He  left  it  in  a  great  lonely  field, 
where  it  was  found  by  a — ” 

“  Little  goose-girl,  who  kept  a  hundred  fat  geese  in 
the  field,”  said  Amy,  when  Sallie’s  invention  gave  out. 
“  The  little  girl  was  sorry  for  them,  and  asked  an  old 
woman  what  she  should  do  to  help  them.  ‘  Your  geese 
will  tell  you,  they  know  everything,’  said  the  old  woman. 
So  she  asked  what  she  should  use  for  new  heads,  since 
the  old  ones  were  lost,  and  all  the  geese  opened  their 
hundred  mouths  and  screamed — ” 

“  ‘  Cabbages  !  ’  ”  continued  Laurie  promptly.  “  ‘  Just 
the  thing,’  said  the  girl,  and  ran  to  get  twelve  fine  ones 
from  her  garden.  She  put  them  on,  the  knights  revived 
at  once,  thanked  her,  and  went  on  their  way  rejoicing, 
never  knowing  the  difference,  for  there  were  so  many 
other  heads  like  them  in  the  world  that  no  one  thought 
anything  of  it.  The  knight  in  whom  I ’m  interested 
went  back  to  find  the  pretty  face,  and  learned  that  the 
princesses  had  spun  themselves  free,  and  all  gone  to  be 
married,  but  one.  He  was  in  a  great  state  of  mind  at  that ; 
and  mounting  the  colt,  who  stood  by  him  through  thick 


Little  Women 


1 64 

and  thin,  rushed  to  the  castle  to  see  which  was  left.. 
Peeping  over  the  hedge,  he  saw  the  queen  of  his  affec¬ 
tions  picking  flowers  in  her  garden.  ‘  Will  you  give  me 
a  rose?  ’  said  he.  ‘  You  must  come  and  get  it.  I  can’t 
come  to  you ;  it  is  n’t  proper,’  said  she,  as  sweet  as 
honey.  He  tried  to  climb  over  the  hedge,  but  it 
seemed  to  grow  higher  and  higher;  then  he  tried  to 
push  through,  but  it  grew  thicker  and  thicker,  and  he 
was  in  despair.  So  he  patiently  broke  twig  after  twig, 
till  he  had  made  a  little  hole,  through  which  he  peeped, 
saying  imploringly,  ‘  Let  me  in  !  let  me  in !  ’  But  the 
pretty  princess  did  not  seem  to  understand,  for  she 
picked  her  roses  quietly,  and  left  him  to  fight  his  way  in. 
Whether  he  did  or  not,  Frank  will  tell  you.” 

“  I  can’t;  I’m  not  playing,  I  never  do,”  said  Frank, 
dismayed  at  the  sentimental  predicament  out  of  which 
he  was  to  rescue  the  absurd  couple.  Beth  had  dis¬ 
appeared  behind  Jo,  and  Grace  was  asleep. 

“  So  the  poor  knight  is  to  be  left  sticking  in  the 
hedge,  is  he?”  asked  Mr.  Brooke,  still  watching  the 
river,  and  playing  with  the  wild  rose  in  his  button¬ 
hole. 

“  I  guess  the  princess  gave  him  a  posy,  and  opened 
the  gate,  after  a  while,”  said  Laurie,  smiling  to  himself, 
as  he  threw  acorns  at  his  tutor. 

“  What  a  piece  of  nonsense  we  have  made !  With 
practice  we  might  do  something  quite  clever.  Do  you 
know  ‘Truth’?”  asked  Sallie,  after  they  had  laughed 
over  their  story. 

“  I  hope  so,”  said  Meg  soberly. 

“  The  game,  I  mean?” 

“What  is  it?”  said  Fred. 

“  Why,  you  pile  up  your  hands,  choose  a  number,  and 
draw  out  in  turn,  and  the  person  who  draws  at  the  num- 


Camp  Laurence  165 

ber  has  to  answer  truly  any  questions  put  by  the  rest 
It ’s  great  fun.” 

“  Let’s  try  it,”  said  Jo,  who  liked  new  experiments. 

Miss  Kate  and  Mr.  Brooke,  Meg,  and  Ned  declined, 
but  Fred,  Sallie,  Jo,  and  Laurie  piled  and  drew;  and 
the  lot  fell  to  Laurie. 

“Who  are  your  heroes?”  asked  Jo. 

“  Grandfather  and  Napoleon.” 

“Which  lady  here  do  you  think  prettiest?”  said 
Sallie. 

“  Margaret.” 

“  Which  do  you  like  best?  ”  from  Fred. 

“  Jo,  of  course.” 

“  What  silly  questions  you  ask  !  ”  and  Jo  gave  a  dis¬ 
dainful  shrug  as  the  rest  laughed  at  Laurie’s  matter-of- 
fact  tone. 

“  Try  again  ;  Truth  is  n’t  a  bad  game,”  said  Fred. 

“  It’s  a  very  good  one  for  you,”  retorted  Jo,  in  a  low 
voice. 

Her  turn  came  next. 

“  What  is  your  greatest  fault?  ”  asked  Fred,  by  way  of 
testing  in  her  the  virtue  he  lacked  himself. 

“  A  quick  temper.” 

“What  do  you  most  wish  for?”  said  Laurie. 

“A  pair  of  boot-lacings,”  returned  Jo,  guessing  and 
defeating  his  purpose. 

“  Not  a  true  answer ;  you  must  say  what  you  really 
do  want  most.” 

“Genius;  don’t  you  wish  you  could  give  it  to  me, 
Laurie?”  and  she  slyly  smiled  in  his  disappointed  face. 

“  What  virtues  do  you  most  admire  in  a  man?”  asked 
Sallie. 

“  Courage  and  honesty.” 

“  Now  my  turn,”  said  Fred,  as  his  hand  came  last. 


1 66 


Little  Women 


“  Let’s  give  it  to  him,”  whispered  Laurie  to  Jo,  who 
nodded,  and  asked  at  once, — 

“  Did  n’t  you  cheat  at  croquet?  ” 

“  Well,  yes,  a  little  bit.” 

“  Good  !  Did  n’t  you  take  your  story  out  of  ‘  The  Sea- 
Lion’?”  said  Laurie. 

“  Rather.” 

“  Don’t  you  think  the  English  nation  perfect  in  every 
respect?”  asked  Sallie. 

“  I  should  be  ashamed  of  myself  if  I  did  n’t.” 

“  He ’s  a  true  John  Bull.  Now,  Miss  Sallie,  you  shall 
have  a  chance  without  waiting  to  draw.  I  ’ll  harrow  up 
your  feelings  first,  by  asking  if  you  don’t  think  you  are 
something  of  a  flirt,”  said  Laurie,  as  Jo  nodded  to  Fred, 
as  a  sign  that  peace  was  declared. 

“  You  impertinent  boy  !  of  course  I ’m  not,”  exclaimed 
Sallie,  with  an  air  that  proved  the  contrary. 

“What  do  you  hate  most?”  asked  Fred. 

“  Spiders  and  rice-pudding.” 

“What  do  you  like  best?”  asked  Jo. 

“  Dancing  and  French  gloves.” 

“  Well,  /  think  Truth  is  a  very  silly  play;  let’s  have 
a  sensible  game  of  Authors,  to  refresh  our  minds,”  pro¬ 
posed  Jo. 

Ned,  Frank,  and  the  little  girls  joined  in  this,  and,  while 
it  went  on,  the  three  elders  sat  apart,  talking.  Miss 
Kate  took  out  her  sketch  again,  and  Margaret  watched 
her,  while  Mr.  Brooke  lay  on  the  grass,  with  a  book, 
which  he  did  not  read. 

“  How  beautifully  you  do  it !  I  wish  I  could  draw,” 
said  Meg,  with  mingled  admiration  and  regret  in  her 
voice. 

“  Why  don’t  you  learn?  I  should  think  you  had  taste 
and  talent  for  it,”  replied  Miss  Kate  graciously. 


Camp  Laurence  167 

“  I  have  n’t  time.” 

“Your  mamma  prefers  other  accomplishments,  I  fancy. 
So  did  mine ;  but  I  proved  to  her  that  I  had  talent,  by 
taking  a  few  lessons  privately,  and  then  she  was  quite 
willing  I  should  go  on.  Can’t  you  do  the  same  with 
your  governess?  ” 

“  I  have  none.” 

“  I  forgot ;  young  ladies  in  America  go  to  school  more 
than  with  us.  Very  fine  schools  they  are,  too,  papa  says. 
You  go  to  a  private  one,  I  suppose?” 

“  I  don’t  go  at  all ;  I  am  a  governess  myself.” 

“Oh,  indeed!”  said  Miss  Kate;  but  she  might  as 
well  have  said,  “  Dear  me,  how  dreadful !  ”  for  her  tone 
implied  it,  and  something  in  her  face  made  Meg  color, 
and  wish  she  had  not  been  so  frank. 

Mr.  Brooke  looked  up,  and  said  quickly,  “Young 
ladies  in  America  love  independence  as  much  as  their 
ancestors  did,  and  are  admired  and  respected  for  sup¬ 
porting  themselves.” 

“  Oh,  yes  ;  of  course  it ’s  very  nice  and  proper  in  them 
to  do  so.  We  have  many  most  respectable  and  worthy 
young  women,  who  do  the  same  and  are  employed 
by  the  nobility,  because,  being' the  daughters  of  gentle¬ 
men,  they  are  both  well-bred  and  accomplished,  you 
know,”  said  Miss  Kate,  in  a  patronizing  tone,  that  hurt 
Meg’s  pride,  and  made  her  work  seem  not  only  more 
distasteful,  but  degrading. 

“  Did  the  German  song  suit,  Miss  March?  ”  inquired 
Mr.  Brooke,  breaking  an  awkward  pause. 

“  Oh,  yes  !  it  was  very  sweet,  and  I  ’m  much  obliged 
to  whoever  translated  it  for  me;  ”  and  Meg’s  downcast 
face  brightened  as  she  spoke. 

“Don’t  you  read  German?”  asked  Miss  Kate,  with  a 
look  of  surprise. 


Little  Women 


1 68 

“  Not  very  well.  My  father,  who  taught  me,  is  away, 
and  I  don’t  get  on  very  fast  alone,  for  I ’ve  no  one  to 
correct  my  pronunciation.” 

“Try  a  little  now;  here  is  Schiller’s  ‘  Mary  Stuart,’ 
and  a  tutor  who  loves  to  teach,”  and  Mr.  Brooke  laid 
his  book  on  her  lap,  with  an  inviting  smile. 

“  It ’s  so  hard  I ’m  afraid  to  try,”  said  Meg,  grateful, 
but  bashful  in  the  presence  of  the  accomplished  young 
lady  beside  her. 

“I’ll  read  a  bit  to  encourage  you;  ”  and  Miss  Kate 
read  one  of  the  most  beautiful  passages,  in  a  perfectly 
correct  but  perfectly  expressionless  manner. 

Mr.  Brooke  made  no  comment,  as  she  returned  the 
book  to  Meg,  who  said  innocently,  — 

“  I  thought  it  was  poetry.” 

“  Some  of  it  is.  Try  this  passage.” 

There  was  a  queer  smile  about  Mr.  Brooke’s  mouth  as 
he  opened  at  poor  Mary’s  lament. 

Meg  obediently  following  the  long  grass-blade  which 
her  new  tutor  used  to  point  with,  read  slowly  and  timidly, 
unconsciously  making  poetry  of  the  hard  words  by  the 
soft  intonation  of  her  musical  voice.  Down  the  page 
went  the  green  guide,  and  presently,  forgetting  her 
listener  in  the  beauty  of  the  sad  scene,  Meg  read  as  if 
alone,  giving  a  little  touch  of  tragedy  to  the  words  of 
the  unhappy  queen.  If  she  had  seen  the  brown  eyes 
then,  she  would  have  stopped  short ;  but  she  never 
looked  up,  and  the  lesson  was  not  spoiled  for  her. 

“Very  well  indeed  !  ”  said  Mr.  Brooke,  as  she  paused, 
quite  ignoring  her  many  mistakes,  and  looking  as  if  he 
did,  indeed,  “  love  to  teach.” 

Miss  Kate  put  up  her  glass,  and,  having  taken  a  survey 
of  the  little  tableau  before  her,  shut  her  sketch-book, 
saying,  with  condescension,  — 


Camp  Laurence  169 

“  You  Ve  a  nice  accent,  and,  in  time,  will  be  a  clever 
reader.  I  advise  you  to  learn,  for  German  is  a  valuable 
accomplishment  to  teachers.  I  must  look  after  Grace, 
she  is  romping ;  ”  and  Miss  Kate  strolled  away,  adding 
to  herself,  with  a  shrug,  “  I  did  n’t  come  to  chaperone  a 
governess,  though  she  is  young  and  pretty.  What  odd 
people  these  Yankees  are;  I’m  afraid  Laurie  will  be 
quite  spoilt  among  them.” 

“  I  forgot  that  English  people  rather  turn  up  their 
noses  at  governesses,  and  don’t  treat  them  as  we  do,” 
said  Meg,  looking  after  the  retreating  figure  with  an 
annoyed  expression. 

“Tutors,  also,  have  rather  a  hard  time  of  it  there,  as  I 
know  to  my  sorrow.  There ’s  no  place  like  America  for 
us  workers,  Miss  Margaret;  ”  and  Mr.  Brooke  looked  so 
contented  and  cheerful,  that  Meg  was  ashamed  to  lament 
her  hard  lot. 

“  I ’m  glad  I  live  in  it  then.  I  don’t  like  my  work, 
but  I  get  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction  out  of  it  after  all, 
so  I  won’t  complain  ;  I  only  wish  I  liked  teaching  as  you 
do.” 

“  I  think  you  would  if  you  had  Laurie  for  a  pupil.  I 
shall  be  very  sorry  to  lose  him  next  year,”  said  Mr. 
Brooke,  busily  punching  holes  in  the  turf. 

“Going  to  college,  I  suppose?”  Meg’s  lips  asked  that 
question,  but  her  eyes  added,  “  And  what  becomes  of 
you  ?  ” 

“Yes;  it’s  high  time  he  went,  for  he  is  ready;  and  as 
soon  as  he  is  off,  I  shall  turn  soldier.  I  am  needed.” 

“I  am  glad  of  that!”  exclaimed  Meg.  “I  should 
think  every  young  man  would  want  to  go ;  though  it  is 
hard  for  the  mothers  and  sisters  who  stay  at  home,”  she 
added  sorrowfully. 

“  I  have  neither,  and  very  few  friends,  to  care  whethef 


Little  Women 


170 

I  live  or  die,”  said  Mr.  Brooke,  rather  bitterly,  as  he 
absently  put  the  dead  rose  in  the  hole  he  had  made  and 
covered  it  up,  like  a  little  grave. 

“  Laurie  and  his  grandfather  would  care  a  great  deal, 
and  we  should  all  be  very  sorry  to  have  any  harm  happen 
to  you,”  said  Meg  heartily. 

“  Thank  you;  that  sounds  pleasant,”  began  Mr. 
Brooke,  looking  cheerful  again;  but  before  he  could 
finish  his  speech,  Ned,  mounted  on  the  old  horse,  came 
lumbering  up  to  display  his  equestrian  skill  before 
the  young  ladies,  and  there  was  no  more  quiet  that 
day. 

“  Don’t  you  love  to  ride?”  asked  Grace  of  Amy,  as 
they  stood  resting,  after  a  race  round  the  field  with  the 
others,  led  by  Ned. 

“  I  dote  upon  it ;  my  sister  Meg  used  to  ride  when 
papa  was  rich,  but  we  don’t  keep  any  horses  now,  except 
Ellen  Tree,”  added  Amy,  laughing. 

“  Tell  me  about  Ellen  Tree;  is  it  a  donkey?”  asked 
Grace,  curiously. 

“  Why,  you  see,  Jo  is  crazy  about  horses,  and  so  am  I, 
but  we ’ve  only  got  an  old  side-saddle,  and  no  horse. 
Out  in  our  garden  is  an  apple-tree,  that  has  a  nice  low 
branch  ;  so  Jo  put  the  saddle  on  it,  fixed  some  reins  on 
the  part  that  turns  up,  and  we  bounce  away  on  Ellen 
Tree  whenever  we  like.” 

“  How  funny  !  ”  laughed  Grace.  “  I  have  a  pony  at 
home,  and  ride  nearly  every  day  in  the  park,  with  Fred 
and  Kate;  it’s  very  nice,  for  my  friends  go  too,  and  the 
Row  is  full  of  ladies  and  gentlemen.” 

“  Dear,  how  charming  !  I  hope  I  shall  go  abroad  some 
day  ;  but  I ’d  rather  go  to  Rome  than  the  Row,”  said 
Amy,  who  had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  the  Row  was, 
and  would  n’t  have  asked  for  the  world. 


Camp  Laurence  17  i 

Frank,  sitting  just  behind  the  little  girls,  heard  what 
they  were  saying,  and  pushed  his  crutch  away  from  him 
with  an  impatient  gesture  as  he  watched  the  active  lads 
going  through  all  sorts  of  comical  gymnastics.  Beth, 
who  was  collecting  the  scattered  Author-cards,  looked 
up,  and  said,  in  her  shy  yet  friendly  way, — 

“  I ’m  afraid  you  are  tired  ;  can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  ” 

“Talk  to  me,  please;  it’s  dull,  sitting  by  myself,” 
answered  Frank,  who  had  evidently  been  used  to  being 
made  much  of  at  home. 

If  he  had  asked  her  to  deliver  a  Latin  oration,  it 
would  not  have  seemed  a  more  impossible  task  to  bash¬ 
ful  Beth ;  but  there  was  no  place  to  run  to,  no  Jo  to  hide 
behind  now,  and  the  poor  boy  looked  so  wistfully  at  her, 
that  she  bravely  resolved  to  try. 

“  What  do  you  like  to  talk  about?  ”  she  asked,  fumbling 
over  the  cards,  and  dropping  half  as  she  tried  to  tie 
them  up. 

“Well,  I  like  to  hear  about  cricket  and  boating  and 
hunting,”  said  Frank,  who  had  not  yet  learned  to  suit 
his  amusements  to  his  strength. 

“My  heart!  what  shall  I  do?  I  don’t  know  anything 
about  them,”  thought  Beth;  and,  forgetting  the  boy’s 
misfortune  in  her  flurry,  she  said,  hoping  to  make  him 
talk,  “  I  never  saw  any  hunting,  but  I  suppose  you  know 
all  about  it.” 

“I  did  once;  but  I  can  never  hunt  again,  for  I  got 
hurt  leaping  a  confounded  five-barred  gate  ;  so  there  are 
no  more  horses  and  hounds  for  me,”  said  Frank,  with  a 
sigh  that  made  Beth  hate  herself  for  her  innocent  blunder. 

“  Your  deer  are  much  prettier  than  our  ugly  buffaloes,” 
she  said,  turning  to  the  prairies  for  help,  and  feeling  glad 
that  she  had  read  one  of  the  boys’  books  in  which  Jo 
delighted. 


Little  Women 


172 

Buffaloes  proved  soothing  and  satisfactory;  and,  in 
her  eagerness  to  amuse  another,  Beth  forgot  herself,  and 
was  quite  unconscious  of  her  sisters’  surprise  and  delight 
at  the  unusual  spectacle  of  Beth  talking  away  to  one 
of  the  dreadful  boys,  against  whom  she  had  begged 
protection. 

“  Bless  her  heart !  She  pities  him,  so  she  is  good  to 
him,”  said  Jo,  beaming  at  her  from  the  croquet-ground. 

“  I  always  said  she  Was  a  little  saint,”  added  Meg,  as  if 
there  could  be  no  further  doubt  of  it. 

“  I  have  n’t  heard  Frank  laugh  so  much  for  ever  so 
long,”  said  Grace  to  Amy,  as  they  sat  discussing  dolls, 
and  making  tea-sets  out  of  the  acorn-cups. 

“  My  sister  Beth  is  a  very  fastidious  girl,  when  she 
likes  to  be,”  said  Amy,  well  pleased  at  Beth’s  success. 
She  meant  “  fascinating,”  but  as  Grace  did  n’t  know  the 
exact  meaning  of  either  word,  “  fastidious  ”  sounded  well, 
and  made  a  good  impression. 

An  impromptu  circus,  fox  and  geese,  and  an  amicable 
game  of  croquet,  finished  the  afternoon.  At  sunset  the 
tent  was  struck,  hampers  packed,  wickets  pulled  up, 
boats  loaded,  and  the  whole  party  floated  down  the 
river,  singing  at  the  tops  of  their  voices.  Ned,  get¬ 
ting  sentimental,  warbled  a  serenade  with  the  pensive 
refrain,  — 

“  Alone,  alone,  ah  !  woe,  alone,” 
and  at  the  lines  — 

“  We  each  are  young,  we  each  have  a  heart, 

Oh,  why  should  we  stand  thus  coldly  apart  ?  ” 

he  looked  at  Meg  with  such  a  lackadaisical  expression 
that  she  laughed  outright  and  spoilt  his  song. 

“  How  can  you  be  so  cruel  to  me?”  he  whispered, 
under  cover  of  a  lively  chorus.  “You’ve  kept  close  to 


Castles  in  the  Air 


1 73 

that  starched-up  Englishwoman  all  day,  and  now  you 
snub  me.” 

“  I  did  n’t  mean  to ;  but  you  looked  so  funny  I  really 
could  n’t  help  it,”  replied  Meg,  passing  over  the  first 
part  of  his  reproach;  for  it  was  quite  true  that  she  had 
shunned  him,  remembering  the  Moffat  party  and  the 
talk  after  it. 

Ned  was  offended,  and  turned  to  Sallie  for  consolation, 
saying  to  her  rather  pettishly,  “  There  is  n’t  a  bit  of  flirt 
in  that  girl,  is  there  ?  ” 

“Not  a  particle;  but  she’s  a  dear,”  returned  Sallie, 
defending  her  friend  even  while  confessing  her  short¬ 
comings. 

“  She ’s  not  a  stricken  deer,  any  way,”  said  Ned, 
trying  to  be  witty,  and  succeeding  as  well  as  very 
young  gentlemen  usually  do. 

On  the  lawn,  where  it  had  gathered,  the  little  party 
separated  with  cordial  good-nights  and  good-byes,  for 
the  Vaughns  were  going  to  Canada.  As  the  four  sisters 
went  home  through  the  garden,  Miss  Kate  looked  after 
them,  saying,  without  the  patronizing  tone  in  her  voice, 
“  In  spite  of  their  demonstrative  manners,  American 
girls  are  very  nice  when  one  knows  them.” 

“  I  quite  agree  with  you,”  said  Mr.  Brooke. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CASTLES  IN  THE  AIR 

LAURIE  lay  luxuriously  swinging  to  and  fro  in 
his  hammock,  one  warm  September  afternoon, 
wondering  what  his  neighbors  were  about,  but 
too  lazy  to  go  and  find  out.  He  was  in  one  of  his 


Little  Women 


174 

moods;  for  the  clay  had  been  both  unprofitable  and 
unsatisfactory,  and  he  was  wishing  he  could  live  it  over 
again.  The  hot  weather  made  him  indolent,  and  he 
had  shirked  his  studies,  tried  Mr.  Brooke’s  patience  to 
the  utmost,  displeased  his  grandfather  by  practising 
half  the  afternoon,  frightened  the  maid-servants  half 
out  of  their  wits,  by  mischievously  hinting  that  one  of 
his  dogs  was  going  mad,  and,  after  high  words  with  the 
stable-man  about  some  fancied  neglect  of  his  horse,  he 
had  flung  himself  into  his  hammock,  to  fume  over  the 
stupidity  of  the  world  in  general,  till  the  peace  of  the 
lovely  day  quieted  him  in  spite  of  himself.  Staring  up 
into  the  green  gloom  of  the  horse-chestnut  trees  above 
him,  he  dreamed  dreams  of  all  sorts,  and  was  just  im¬ 
agining  himself  tossing  on  the  ocean,  in  a  voyage  round 
the  world,  when  the  sound  of  voices  brought  him 
ashore  in  a  flash.  Peeping  through  the  meshes  of  the 
hammock,  he  saw  the  Marches  coming  out,  as  if  bound 
on  some  expedition. 

“  What  in  the  world  are  those  girls  about  now  ?  ” 
thought  Laurie,  opening  his  sleepy  eyes  to  take  a  good 
look,  for  there  was  something  rather  peculiar  in  the 
appearance  of  his  neighbors.  Each  wore  a  large,  flap¬ 
ping  hat,  a  brown  linen  pouch  slung  over  one  shoulder, 
and  carried  a  long  staff.  Meg  had  a  cushion,  Jo  a  book, 
Beth  a  basket,  and  Amy  a  portfolio.  All  walked  quietly 
through  the  garden,  out  at  the  little  back  gate,  and  be¬ 
gan  to  climb  the  hill  that  lay  between  the  house  and 
river. 

“  Well,  that ’s  cool !  ”  said  Laurie  to  himself,  “  to  have 
a  picnic  and  never  ask  me.  They  can’t  be  going  in  the 
boat,  for  they  have  n’t  got  the  key.  Perhaps  they  for¬ 
got  it;  I  ’ll  take  it  to  them,  and  see  what’s  going  on.” 

Though  possessed  of  half  a  dozen  hats,  it  took  him 


Castles  in  the  Air 


1  7  5 

some  time  to  find  one ;  then  there  was  a  hunt  for  the 
key,  which  was  at  last  discovered  in  his  pocket;  so  that 
the  girls  were  quite  out  of  sight  when  he  leaped  the 
fence  and  ran  after  them.  Taking  the  shortest  way  to 
the  boat-house,  he  waited  for  them  to  appear :  but  no 
one  came,  and  he  went  up  the  hill  to  take  an  observa¬ 
tion.  A  grove  of  pines  covered  one  part  of  it,  and 
from  the  heart  of  this  green  spot  came  a  clearer 
sound  than  the  soft  sigh  of  the  pines  or  the  drowsy 
chirp  of  the  crickets. 

“  Here ’s  a  landscape !  ”  thought  Laurie,  peeping 
through  the  bushes,  and  looking  wide-awake  and  good- 
natured  already. 

It  was  rather  a  pretty  little  picture,  for  the  sisters  sat 
together  in  the  shady  nook,  with  sun  and  shadow  flick¬ 
ering  over  them,  the  aromatic  wind  lifting  their  hair 
and  cooling  their  hot  cheeks,  and  all  the  little  wood- 
people  going  on  with  their  affairs  as  if  these  were  no 
strangers,  but  old  friends.  Meg  sat  upon  her  cushion, 
sewing  daintily  with  her  white  hands,  and  looking  as 
fresh  and  sweet  as  a  rose,  in  her  pink  dress,  among  the 
green.  Beth  was  sorting  the  cones  that  lay  thick  under 
the  hemlock  near  by,  for  she  made  pretty  things  of 
them.  Amy  was  sketching  a  group  of  ferns,  and  Jo 
was  knitting  as  she  read  aloud.  A  shadow  passed  over 
the  boy’s  face  as  he  watched  them,  feeling  that  he 
ought  to  go  away,  because  uninvited ;  yet  lingering, 
because  home  seemed  very  lonely,  and  this  quiet  party 
in  the  woods  most  attractive  to  his  restless  spirit.  He 
stood  so  still  that  a  squirrel,  busy  with  its  harvesting, 
ran  down  a  pine  close  beside  him,  saw  him  suddenly 
and  skipped  back,  scolding  so  shrilly  that  Beth  looked 
up,  espied  the  wistful  face  behind  the  birches,  and 
beckoned  with  a  reassuring  smile. 


Little  Women 


176 

“  May  I  come  in,  please?  or  shall  I  be  a  bother?"  he 
asked,  advancing  slowly. 

Meg  lifted  her  eyebrows,  but  Jo  scowled  at  her  defi¬ 
antly,  and  said,  at  once,  “  Of  course  you  may.  We 
should  have  asked  you  before,  only  we  thought  you 
would  n’t  care  for  such  a  girl’s  game  as  this.’’ 

“I  always  liked  your  games;  but  if  Meg  doesn’t 
want  me,  I  ’ll  go  away.’’ 

“  I ’ve  no  objection,  if  you  do  something;  it ’s  against 
the  rules  to  be  idle  here,”  replied  Meg,  gravely  but 
graciously. 

“Much  obliged;  I’ll  do  anything  if  you’ll  let  me 
stop  a  bit,  for  it ’s  as  dull  as  the  Desert  of  Sahara 
down  there.  Shall  I  sew,  read,  cone,  draw,  or  do  all 
at  once  ?  Bring  on  your  bears ;  I ’m  ready,”  and  Laurie 
sat  down,  with  a  submissive  expression  delightful  to 
behold. 

“  Finish  this  story  while  I  set  my  heel,”  said  Jo,  hand¬ 
ing  him  the  book. 

“  Yes’m,”  was  the  meek  answer,  as  he  began,  doing 
his  best  to  prove  his  gratitude  for  the  favor  of  an  admis¬ 
sion  into  the  “  Busy  Bee  Society.” 

The  story  was  not  a  long  one,  and,  when  it  was  fin¬ 
ished,  he  ventured  to  ask  a  few  questions  as  a  reward  of 
merit. 

“  Please,  ma’am,  could  I  enquire  if  this  highly  instruc¬ 
tive  and  charming  institution  is  a  new  one  ?  ” 

“Would  you  tell  him  ?  ”  asked  Meg  of  her  sisters. 

“  He  ’ll  laugh,”  said  Amy  warningly. 

“  Who  cares  ?  ”  said  Jo. 

“  I  guess  he  ’ll  like  it,”  added  Beth. 

“  Of  course  I  shall !  I  give  you  my  word  I  won’t 
laugh.  Tell  away,  Jo,  and  don’t  be  afraid.” 

“The  idea  of  being  afraid  of  you!  Well,  you  see 


Castles  in  the  Air 


1 77 

we  used  to  play  ‘  Pilgrim’s  Progress,’  and  we  have  been 
going  on  with  it  in  earnest,  all  winter  and  summer.” 

“  Yes,.  I  know,”  said  Laurie,  nodding  wisely. 

“  Who  told  you?”  demanded  Jo. 

“  Spirits.” 

“  No,  I  did ;  I  wanted  to  amuse  him  one  night  when 
you  were  all  away,  and  he  was  rather  dismal.  He  did 
like  it,  so  don’t  scold,  Jo,”  said  Beth  meekly. 

“You  can’t  keep  a  secret.  Never  mind;  it  saves 
trouble  now.” 

“  Go  on,  please,”  said  Laurie,  as  Jo  became  absorbed 
in  her  work,  looking  a  trifle  displeased. 

“  Oh,  did  n’t  she  tell  you  about  this  new  plan  of  ours  ? 
Well,  we  have  tried  not  to  waste  our  holiday,  but  each 
has  had  a  task,  and  worked  at  it  with  a  will.  The  vaca¬ 
tion  is  nearly  over,  the  stints  are  all  done,  and  we  are 
ever  so  glad  that  we  did  n’t  dawdle.” 

“  Yes,  I  should  think  so ;  ”  and  Laurie  thought  regret¬ 
fully  of  his  own  idle  days. 

“  Mother  likes  to  have  us  out  of  doors  as  much  as 
possible ;  so  we  bring  our  work  here,  and  have  nice 
times.  For  the  fun  of  it  we  bring  our  things  in  these 
bags,  wear  the  old  hats,  use  poles  to  climb  the  hill,  and 
play  pilgrims,  as  we  used  to  do  years  ago.  We  call 
this  hill  the  ‘  Delectable  Mountain,’  for  we  can  look 
far  away  and  see  the  country  where  we  hope  to  live 
some  time.” 

Jo  pointed,  and  Laurie  sat  up  to  examine  ;  for  through 
an  opening  in  the  wood  one  could  look  across  the  wide, 
blue  river,  the  meadows  on  the  other  side,  far  over  the 
outskirts  of  the  great  city,  to  the  green  hills  that  rose  to 
meet  the  sky.  The  sun  was  low,  and  the  heavens 
glowed  with  the  splendor  of  an  autumn  sunset.  Gold 
and  purple  clouds  lay  on  the  hill-tops;  and  rising  high 

12 


Little  Women 


178 

into  the  ruddy  light  were  silvery  white  peaks,  that 
shone  like  the  airy  spires  of  some  Celestial  City. 

“  How  beautiful  that  is  !  ”  said  Laurie  softly,  for  he 
was  quick  to  see  and  feel  beauty  of  any  kind. 

“  It ’s  often  so ;  and  we  like  to  watch  it,  for  it  is  never 
the  same,  but  always  splendid,”  replied  Amy,  wishing 
she  could  paint  it. 

“Jo  talks  about  the  country  where  we  hope  to  live 
some  time,  —  the  real  country,  she  means,  with  pigs  and 
chickens  and  haymaking.  It  would  be  nice,  but  I  wish 
the  beautiful  country  up  there  was  real,  and  we  could 
ever  go  to  it,”  said  Beth  musingly. 

“  There  is  a  lovelier  country  even  than  that,  where  we 
shall  go,  by  and  by,  when  we  are  good  enough,”  an¬ 
swered  Meg,  with  her  sweet  voice. 

“  It  seems  so  long  to  wait,  so  hard  to  do ;  I  want  to 
fly  away  at  once,  as  those  swallows  fly,  and  go  in  at  that 
splendid  gate.” 

“You’ll  get  there,  Beth,  sooner  or  later;  no  fear  of 
that,”  said  Jo ;  “I ’m  the  one  that  will  have  to  fight  and 
work,  and  climb  and  wait,  and  maybe  never  get  in  after 
all.” 

“  You  ’ll  have  me  for  company,  if  that ’s  any  comfort. 
I  shall  have  to  do  a  deal  of  travelling  before  I  come  in 
sight  of  your  Celestial  City.  If  I  arrive  late,  you  ’ll  say 
a  good  word  for  me,  won’t  you,  Beth?  ” 

Something  in  the  boy’s  face  troubled  his  little  friend; 
but  she  said  cheerfully,  with  her  quiet  eyes  on  the 
changing  clouds,  “  If  people  really  want  to  go,  and 
really  try  all  their  lives,  I  think  they  will  get  in  ;  for  I 
don’t  believe  there  are  any  locks  on  that  door,  or  any 
guards  at  the  gate.  I  always  imagine  it  is  as  it  is  in  the 
picture,  where  the  shining  ones  stretch  out  their  hands  to 
welcome  poor  Christian  as  he  comes  up  from  the  river.” 


Castles  in  the  Air 


1 79 

“  Would  n’t  it  be  fun  if  all  the  castles  in  the  air  which 
we  make  could  come  true,  and  we  could  live  in  them?” 
said  Jo,  after  a  little  pause. 

“  I  Ve  made  such  quantities  it  would  be  hard  to  choose 
which  I ’d  have,”  said  Laurie,  lying  flat,  and  throwing 
cones  at  the  squirrel  who  had  betrayed  him. 

“  You ’d  have  to  take  your  favorite  one.  What  is  it?  ” 
asked  Meg. 

“  If  I  tell  mine,  will  you  tell  yours?  ” 

“  Yes,  if  the  girls  will  too.” 

“We  will.  Now,  Laurie.” 

“  After  I  ’d  seen  as  much  of  the  world  as  I  want  to, 
I ’d  like  to  settle  in  Germany,  and  have  just  as  much 
music  as  I  choose.  I ’m  to  be  a  famous  musician  my¬ 
self,  and  all  creation  is  to  rush  to  hear  me;  and  I’m 
never  to  be  bothered  about  money  or  business,  but  just 
enjoy  myself,  and  live  for  what  I  like.  That ’s  my 
favorite  castle.  What ’s  yours,  Meg.?  ” 

Margaret  seemed  to  find  it  a  little  hard  to  tell  hers, 
and  waved  a  brake  before  her  face,  as  if  to  disperse 
imaginary  gnats,  while  she  said  slowly,  “  I  should  like  a 
lovely  house,  full  of  all  sorts  of  luxurious  things,  —  nice 
food,  pretty  clothes,  handsome  furniture,  pleasant  people, 
and  heaps  of  money.  I  am  to  be  mistress  of  it,  and 
manage  it  as  I  like,  with  plenty  of  servants,  so  I  never 
need  work  a  bit.  How  I  should  enjoy  it !  for  I  would  n’t 
be  idle,  but  do  good,  and  make  every  one  love  me 
dearly.” 

“  Would  n’t  you  have  a  master  for  your  castle  in  the 
air?”  asked  Laurie  slyly. 

“  I  said  ‘  pleasant  people,’  you  know;  ”  and  Meg  care¬ 
fully  tied  up  her  shoe  as  she  spoke,  so  that  no  one  saw 
her  face. 

fi  Why  don’t  you  say  you ’d  have  a  splendid,  wise,  good 


Little  Women 


1 80 

husband,  and  some  angelic  little  children?  You  know 
your  castle  would  n’t  be  perfect  without,”  said  blunt  Jo, 
who  had  no  tender  fancies  yet,  and  rather  scorned  ro¬ 
mance,  except  in  books. 

“  You’d  have  nothing  but  horses,  inkstands,  and 
novels  in  yours,”  answered  Meg  petulantly. 

“  Would  n’t  I,  though?  I ’d  have  a  stable  full  of  Ara¬ 
bian  steeds,  rooms  piled  with  books,  and  I ’d  write  out 
of  a  magic  inkstand,  so  that  my  works  should  be  as 
famous  as  Laurie’s  music.  I  want  to  do  something 
splendid  before  I  go  into  my  castle,  —  something  heroic 
or  wonderful,  that  won’t  be  forgotten  after  I ’m  dead.  I 
don’t  know  what,  but  I  ’m  on  the  watch  for  it,  and  mean 
to  astonish  you  all,  some  day.  I  think  I  shall  write 
books,  and  get  rich  and  famous :  that  would  suit  me,  so 
that  is  my  favorite  dream.” 

“  Mine  is  to  stay  at  home  safe  with  father  and  mother, 
and  help  take  care  of  the  family,”  said  Beth  contentedly. 

“Don’t  you  wish  for  anything  else?”  asked  Laurie. 

“  Since  I  had  my  little  piano,  I  am  perfectly  satisfied. 
I  only  wish  we  may  all  keep  well  and  be  together;  noth¬ 
ing  else.” 

“  I  have  ever  so  many  wishes ;  but  the  pet  one  is  to 
be  an  artist,  and  go  to  Rome,  and  do  fine  pictures,  and 
be  the  best  artist  in  the  whole  world,”  was  Amy’s  modest 
desire. 

“We’re  an  ambitious  set,  aren’t  we?  Every  one  of 
us,  but  Beth,  wants  to  be  rich  and  famous,  and  gorgeous 
in  every  respect.  I  do  wonder  if  any  of  us  will  ever  get 
our  wishes,”  said  Laurie,  chewing  grass,  like  a  meditative 
calf. 

“  I ’ve  got  the  key  to  my  castle  in  the  air ;  but 
whether  I  can  unlock  the  door  remains  to  be  seen,” 
observed  Jo  mysteriously. 


Castles  in  the  Air 


1 8  1 

“  I  Ve  got  the  key  to  mine,  but  I  ’m  not  allowed  to  try 
it.  Hang  college  !  ”  muttered  Laurie,  with  an  impatient 
sigh. 

“  Here ’s  mine  !  ”  and  Amy  waved  her  pencil. 

“  I  have  n’t  got  any,”  said  Meg  forlornly. 

“  Yes,  you  have,”  said  Laurie  at  once. 

“  Where  ?  ” 

“  In  your  face.” 

“  Nonsense  ;  that ’s  of  no  use.” 

“  Wait  and  see  if  it  does  n’t  bring  you  something 
worth  having,”  replied  the  boy,  laughing  at  the  thought 
of  a  charming  little  secret  which  he  fancied  he  knew. 

Meg  colored  behind  the  brake,  but  asked  no  questions, 
and  looked  across  the  river  with  the  same  expectant  ex¬ 
pression  which  Mr.  Brooke  had  worn  when  he  told  the 
story  of  the  knight. 

“  If  we  are  all  alive  ten  years  hence,  let ’s  meet,  and 
see  how  many  of  us  have  got  our  wishes,  or  how  much 
nearer  we  are  then  than  now,”  said  Jo,  always  ready 
with  a  plan. 

“  Bless  me  !  how  old  I  shall  be,  — twenty-seven  !  ”  ex¬ 
claimed  Meg,  who  felt  grown  up  already,  having  just 
reached  seventeen. 

“  You  and  I  will  be  twenty-six,  Teddy,  Beth  twenty- 
four,  and  Amy  twenty-two.  What  a  venerable  party  !  ” 
said  Jo. 

“  I  hope  I  shall  have  done  something  to  be  proud  of 
by  that  time ;  but  I  ’m  such  a  lazy  dog,  I  ’m  afraid  I 
shall  ‘  dawdle,’  Jo.” 

“  You  need  a  motive,  mother  says ;  and  when  you  get 
it,  she  is  sure  you  ’ll  work  splendidly.” 

“  Is  she?  By  Jupiter  I  will,  if  I  only  get  the  chance  !  ” 
cried  Laurie,  sitting  up  with  sudden  energy.  “  I  ought 
to  be  satisfied  to  please  grandfather,  and  I  do  try,  but 


Little  Women 


182 

it’s  working  against  the  grain,  you  see,  and  comes  hard. 
He  wants  me  to  be  an  India  merchant,  as  he  was,  and 
I  ’d  rather  be  shot.  I  hate  tea  and  silk  and  spices,  and 
every  sort  of  rubbish  his  old  ships  bring,  and  I  don’t 
care  how  soon  they  go  to  the  bottom  when  I  own  them. 
Going  to  college  ought  to  satisfy  him,  for  if  I  give  him 
four  years  he  ought  to  let  me  off  from  the  business  ;  but 
he ’s  set,  and  I ’ve  got  to  do  just  as  he  did,  unless  I 
break  away  and  please  myself,  as  my  father  did.  If 
there  was  any  one  left  to  stay  with  the  old  gentleman, 
I  ’d  do  it  to-morrow.” 

Laurie  spoke  excitedly,  and  looked  ready  to  carry  his 
threat  into  execution  on  the  slightest  provocation  ;  for 
he  was  growing  up  very  fast,  and,  in  spite  of  his  indolent 
ways,  had  a  young  man’s  hatred  of  subjection,  a  young 
man’s  restless  longing  to  try  the  world  for  himself 

“  I  advise  you  to  sail  away  in  one  of  your  ships,  and 
never  come  home  again  till  you  have  tried  your  own 
way,”  said  Jo,  whose  imagination  was  fired  by  the 
thought  of  such  a  daring  exploit,  and  whose  sympathy 
was  excited  by  what  she  called  “  Teddy’s  wrongs.” 

“That’s  not  right,  Jo;  you  must  n’t  talk  in  that  way, 
and  Laurie  mustn’t  take  your  bad  advice.  You  should 
do  just  what  your  grandfather  wishes,  my  dear  boy,”  said 
Meg,  in  her  most  maternal  tone.  “  Do  your  best  at 
college,  and,  when  he  sees  that  you  try  to  please  him, 
I ’m  sure  he  won’t  be  hard  or  unjust  to  you.  As  you 
say,  there  is  no  one  else  to  stay  with  and  love  him,  and 
you  ’d  never  forgive  yourself  if  you  left  him  without  his 
permission.  Don’t  be  dismal  or  fret,  but  do  your  duty  ; 
and  you  ’ll  get  your  reward,  as  good  Mr.  Brooke  has,  by 
being  respected  and  loved.” 

“What  do  you  know  about  him?”  asked  Laurie, 
grateful  for  the  good  advice,  but  objecting  to  the  lecture, 


Castles  in  the  Air  183 

and  glad  to  turn  the  conversation  from  himself,  after  his 
unusual  outbreak. 

“  Only  what  your  grandpa  told  us  about  him,  —  how 
he  took  good  care  of  his  own  mother  till  she  died,  and 
would  n’t  go  abroad  as  tutor  to  some  nice  person,  because 
he  would  n’t  leave  her ;  and  how  he  provides  now  for  an 
old  woman  who  nursed  his  mother ;  and  never  tells  any 
one,  but  is  just  as  generous  and  patient  and  good  as  he 
can  be.” 

“  So  he  is,  dear  old  fellow !  ”  said  Laurie  heartily,  as 
Meg  paused,  looking  flushed  and  earnest  with  her  story. 
“  It ’s  like  grandpa  to  find  out  all  about  him,  without 
letting  him  know,  and  to  tell  all  his  goodness  to  others, 
so  that  they  might  like  him.  Brooke  could  n’t  understand 
why  your  mother  was  so  kind  to  him,  asking  him  over 
with  me,  and  treating  him  in  her  beautiful  friendly  way. 
He  thought  she  was  just  perfect,  and  talked  about  it 
for  days  and  days,  and  went  on  about  you  all  in  flaming 
style.  If  ever  I  do  get  my  wish,  you  see  what  I  ’ll  do  for 
Brooke.” 

“  Begin  to  do  something  now,  by  not  plaguing  his  life 
out,”  said  Meg  sharply. 

“  How  do  you  know  I  do,  miss?  ” 

“  I  can  always  tell  by  his  face,  when  he  goes  away.  If 
you  have  been  good,  he  looks  satisfied  and  walks  briskly ; 
if  you  have  plagued  him,  he ’s  sober  and  walks  slowly,  as 
if  he  wanted  to  go  back  and  do  his  work  better.” 

“  Well,  I  like  that !  So  you  keep  an  account  of  my 
good  and  bad  marks  in  Brooke’s  face,  do  you?  I  see 
him  bow  and  smile  as  he  passes  your  window,  but  I 
did  n’t  know  you ’d  got  up  a  telegraph.” 

“  We  have  n’t;  don’t  be  angry,  and  oh,  don’t  tell  him 
I  said  anything !  It  was  only  to  show  that  I  cared  how 
you  get  on,  and  what  is  said  here  is  said  in  confidence, 


Little  Women 


i  84 

you  know,”  cried  Meg,  much  alarmed  at  the  thought  of 
what  might  follow  from  her  careless  speech. 

“  I  don’t  tell  tales,”  replied  Laurie,  with  his  “  high  and 
mighty”  air,  as  Jo  called  a  certain  expression  which  he 
occasionally  wore.  “  Only  if  Brooke  is  going  to  be  a 
thermometer,  I  must  mind  and  have  fair  weather  for  him 
to  report.” 

“  Please  don’t  be  offended.  I  did  n’t  mean  to  preach 
or  tell  tales  or  be  silly;  I  only  thought  Jo  was  encourag¬ 
ing  you  in  a  feeling  which  you ’d  be  sorry  for,  by  and  by. 
You  are  so  kind  to  us,  we  feel  as  if  you  were  our  brother, 
and  say  just  what  we  think.  Forgive  me,  I  meant  it 
kindly.”  And  Meg  offered  her  hand  with  a  gesture  both 
affectionate  and  timid. 

Ashamed  of  his  momentary  pique,  Laurie  squeezed 
the  kind  little  hand,  and  said  frankly,  “  I  ’m  the  one  to 
be  forgiven ;  I ’m  cross,  and  have  been  out  of  sorts  all 
day.  I  like  to  have  you  tell  me  my  faults  and  be  sisterly, 
so  don’t  mind  if  I  am  grumpy  sometimes ;  I  thank  you, 
all  the  same.” 

Bent  on  showing  that  he  was  not  offended,  he  made 
himself  as  agreeable  as  possible, —  wound  cotton  for  Meg, 
recited  poetry  to  please  Jo,  shook  down  cones  for  Beth, 
and  helped  Amy  with  her  ferns,  proving  himself  a  fit 
person  to  belong  to  the  “  Busy  Bee  Society.”  In  the 
midst  of  an  animated  discussion  on  the  domestic  habits 
of  turtles  (one  of  those  amiable  creatures  having  strolled 
up  from  the  river),  the  faint  sound  of  a  bell  warned  them 
that  Hannah  had  put  the  tea  “  to  draw,”  and  they  would 
just  have  time  to  get  home  to  supper. 

“  May  I  come  again?  ”  asked  Laurie. 

“Yes,  if  you  are  good,  and  love  your  book,  as  the 
boys  in  the  primer  are  told  to  do,”  said  Meg,  smiling. 

“I’ll  try” 


musH 


Secrets 


185 

“  Then  you  may  come,  and  I  ’ll  teach  you  to  knit  as  the 
Scotchmen  do;  there ’s  a  demand  for  socks  just  now,” 
added  Jo,  waving  hers,  like  a  big  blue  worsted  banner,  as 
they  parted  at  the  gate. 

That  night,  when  Beth  played  to  Mr.  Laurence  in  the 
twilight,  Laurie,  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  curtain, 
listened  to  the  little  David,  whose  simple  music  always 
quieted  his  moody  spirit,  and  watched  the  old  man,  who 
sat  with  his  gray  head  on  his  hand,  thinking  tender 
thoughts  of  the  dead  child  he  had  loved  so  much.  Re¬ 
membering  the  conversation  of  the  afternoon,  the  boy 
said  to  himself,  with  the  resolve  to  make  the  sacrifice 
cheerfully,  “  I  ’ll  let  my  castle  go,  and  stay  with  the  dear 
old  gentleman  while  he  needs  me,  for  I  am  all  he  has.” 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SECRETS 

JO  was  very  busy  in  the  garret,  for  the  October  days 
began  to  grow  chilly,  and  the  afternoons  were  short. 
For  two  or  three  hours  the  sun  lay  warmly  in  the 
high  window,  showing  Jo  seated  on  the  old  sofa,  writing 
busily,  with  her  papers  spread  out  upon  a  trunk  before 
her,  while  Scrabble,  the  pet  rat,  promenaded  the  beams 
overhead,  accompanied  by  his  oldest  son,  a  fine  young 
fellow,  who  was  evidently  very  proud  of  his  whiskers. 
Quite  absorbed  in  her  work,  Jo  scribbled  away  till  the 
last  page  was  filled,  when  she  signed  her  name  with  a 
flourish,  and  threw  down  her  pen,  exclaiming, — 

“  There,  I  Ve  done  my  best !  If  this  won’t  suit  I  shall 
have  to  wait  till  I  can  do  better.” 

Lying  back  on  the  sofa,  she  read  the  manuscript  care- 


1 86 


Little  Women 


fully  through,  making  dashes  here  and  there,  and  putting 
in  many  exclamation  points,  which  looked  like  little  bal¬ 
loons ;  then  she  tied  it  up  with  a  smart  red  ribbon,  and 
sat  a  minute  looking  at  it  with  a  sober,  wistful  expression, 
which  plainly  showed  how  earnest  her  work  had  been. 
Jo’s  desk  up  here  was  an  old  tin  kitchen,  which  hung 
against  the  wall.  In  it  she  kept  her  papers  and  a  few 
books,  safely  shut  away  from  Scrabble,  who,  being  like¬ 
wise  of  a  literary  turn,  was  fond  of  making  a  circulating 
library  of  such  books  as  were  left  in  his  way,  by  eating 
the  leaves.  From  this  tin  receptacle  Jo  produced  another 
manuscript;  and,  putting  both  in  her  pocket,  crept 
quietly  down  stairs,  leaving  her  friends  to  nibble  her  pens 
and  taste  her  ink. 

She  put  on  her  hat  and  jacket  as  noiselessly  as  possible, 
and,  going  to  the  back  entry  window,  got  out  upon  the 
roof  of  a  low  porch,  swung  herself  down  to  the  grassy 
bank,  and  took  a  roundabout  way  to  the  road.  Once 
there,  she  composed  herself,  hailed  a  passing  omnibus,  and 
rolled  away  to  town,  looking  very  merry  and  mysterious. 

If  any  one  had  been  watching  her,  he  would  have 
thought- her  movements  decidedly  peculiar;  for,  on 
alighting,  she  went  off  at  a  great  pace  till  she  reached  a 
certain  number  in  a  certain  busy  street;  having  found 
the  place  with  some  difficulty,  she  went  into  the  door¬ 
way,  looked  up  the  dirty  stairs,  and,  after  standing  stock 
still  a  minute,  suddenly  dived  into  the  street,  and  walked 
away  as  rapidly  as  she  came.  This  manoeuvre  she 
repeated  several  times,  to  the  great  amusement  of  a  black- 
eyed  young  gentleman  lounging  in  the  window  of  a  build¬ 
ing  opposite.  On  returning  for  the  third  time,  Jo  gave 
herself  a  shake,  pulled  her  hat  over  her  eyes,  and  walked 
up  the  stairs,  looking  as  if  she  were  going  to  have  all  hef 
teeth  out. 


Secrets 


There  was  a  dentist’s  sign,  among  others,  which  adorned 
the  entrance,  and,  after  staring  a  moment  at  the  pair  of 
artificial  jaws  which  slowly  opened  and  shut  to  draw  at' 
tention  to  a  fine  set  of  teeth,  the  young  gentleman  put  on 
his  coat,  took  his  hat,  and  went  down  to  post  himself  in 
the  opposite  doorway,  saying,  with  a  smile  and  a  shiver,  — 

“  It ’s  like  her  to  come  alone,  but  if  she  has  a  bad 
time  she  ’ll  need  some  one  to  help  her  home.” 

In  ten  minutes  Jo  came  running  down  stairs  with  a 
very  red  face,  and  the  general  appearance  of  a  person 
who  had  just  passed  through  a  trying  ordeal  of  some 
sort.  When  she  saw  the  young  gentleman  she  looked 
anything  but  pleased,  and  passed  him  with  a  nod ;  but 
he  followed,  asking,  with  an  air  of  sympathy, — - 

“  Did  you  have  a  bad  time?  ” 

“  Not  very.” 

“  You  got  through  quickly.” 

“  Yes,  thank  goodness  !  ” 

“  Why  did  you  go  alone?  ” 

“  Did  n’t  want  any  one  to  know.” 

“  You  ’re  the  oddest  fellow  I  ever  saw.  How  many 
did  you  have  out  ?  ” 

Jo  looked  at  her  friend  as  if  she  did  not  understand 
him ;  then  began  to  laugh,  as  if  mightily  amused  at 
something. 

“  There  are  two  which  I  want  to  have  come  out,  but  I 
must  wait  a  week.” 

“What  are  you  laughing  at?  You  are  up  to  some 
mischief,  Jo,”  said  Laurie,  looking  mystified. 

“  So  are  you.  What  were  you  doing,  sir,  up  in  that 
billiard  saloon?” 

“  Begging  your  pardon,  ma’am,  it  was  n’t  a  billiard 
saloon,  but  a  gymnasium,  and  I  was  taking  a  lesson 
in  fencing.” 


1 88 


Little  Women 


“  I ’m  glad  of  that.” 

“Why?” 

“You  can  teach  me,  and  then  when  we  play  Hamlet, 
you  can  be  Laertes,  and  we  ’ll  make  a  fine  thing  of  the 
fencing  scene.” 

Laurie  burst  out  with  a  hearty  boy’s  laugh,  which 
made  several  passers-by  smile  in  spite  of  themselves. 

“  I  ’ll  teach  you  whether  we  play  Hamlet  or  not;  it ’s 
grand  fun,  and  will  straighten  you  up  capitally.  But  I 
don’t  believe  that  was  your  only  reason  for  saying  ‘  I ’m 
glad,’  in  that  decided  way;  was  it,  now?” 

“  No,  I  was  glad  that  you  were  not  in  the  saloon,  be- 
cause  I  hope  you  never  go  to  such  places.  Do  you?” 

“  Not  often.” 

“  I  wish  you  would  n’t.” 

“  It’s  no  harm,  Jo.  I  have  billiards  at  home,  but  it’s 
no  fun  unless  you  have  good  players ;  so,  as  I ’m  fond 
of  it,  I  come  sometimes  and  have  a  game  with  Ned 
Moffat  or  some  of  the  other  fellows.” 

“  Oh  dear,  I  ’m  so  sorry,  for  you  ’ll  get  to  liking  it 
better  and  better,  and  will  waste  time  and  money,  and 
grow  like  those  dreadful  boys.  I  did  hope  you ’d  stay 
respectable,  and  be  a  satisfaction  to  your  friends,”  said 
Jo,  shaking  her  head. 

“  Can’t  a  fellow  take  a  little  innocent  amusement  now 
and  then  without  losing  his  respectability?”  asked 
Laurie,  looking  nettled. 

“  That  depends  upon  how  and  where  he  takes  it.  I 
don’t  like  Ned  and  his  set,  and  wish  you ’d  keep  out  of 
it.  Mother  won’t  let  us  have  him  at  our  house,  though 
he  wants  to  come ;  and  if  you  grow  like  him  she  won’t 
be  willing  to  have  us  frolic  together  as  we  do  now.” 

“  Won’t  she?  ”  asked  Laurie  anxiously. 

“No,  she  can’t  bear  fashionable  young  men,  and 


Secrets  189 

she ’d  shut  us  all  up  in  bandboxes  rather  than  have  us 
associate  with  them.” 

“Well,  she  needn’t  get  out  her  bandboxes  yet;  I’m 
not  a  fashionable  party,  and  don’t  mean  to  be ;  but  I  do 
like  harmless  larks  now  and  then,  don’t  you?” 

“Yes,  nobody  minds  them,  so  lark  away,  but  don’t 
get  wild,  will  you?  or  there  will  be  an  end  of  all  our 
good  times.” 

“  I  ’ll  be  a  double-distilled  saint.” 

“  I  can’t  bear  saints  :  just  be  a  simple,  honest,  respect¬ 
able  boy,  and  we  ’ll  never  desert  you.  I  don’t  know 
what  I  should  do  if  you  acted  like  Mr.  King’s  son;  he 
had  plenty  of  money,  but  did  n’t  know  how  to  spend  it, 
and  got  tipsy  and  gambled,  and  ran  away,  and  forged 
his  father’s  name,  I  believe,  and  was  altogether  horrid.” 

“You  think  I’m  likely  to  do  the  same?  Much 
obliged.” 

“No,  I  don’t  —  oh,  dear ,  no! — but  I  hear  people 
talking  about  money  being  such  a  temptation,  and  I 
sometimes  wish  you  were  poor;  I  shouldn’t  worry 
then.” 

“  Do  you  worry  about  me,  Jo?  ” 

“  A  little,  when  you  look  moody  or  discontented,  as 
you  sometimes  do ;  for  you ’ve  got  such  a  strong  will, 
if  you  once  get  started  wrong,  I  ’m  afraid  it  would  be 
hard  to  stop  you.” 

Laurie  walked  in  silence  a  few  minutes,  and  Jo 
watched  him,  wishing  she  had  held  her  tongue,  for  his 
eyes  looked  angry,  though  his  lips  still  smiled  as  if  at  her 
warnings. 

“  Are  you  going  to  deliver  lectures  all  the  way  home  ?  ” 
he  asked  presently. 

“  Of  course  not ;  why?” 

“Because  if  you  are,  I  ’ll  take  a  'bus;  if  you  are  nob 


190  Little  Women 

I  ’d  like  to  walk  with  you,  and  tell  you  something  very 
interesting.” 

“  I  won’t  preach  any  more,  and  I ’d  like  to  hear  the 
news  immensely.” 

“  Very  well,  then ;  come  on.  It ’s  a  secret,  and  if  I 
tell  you,  you  must  tell  me  yours.” 

“  I  have  n’t  got  any,”  began  Jo,  but  stopped  suddenly, 
remembering  that  she  had. 

“You  know  you  have,  — -you  can’t  hide  anything;  so 
up  and  ’fess,  or  I  won’t  tell,”  cried  Laurie. 

“  Is  your  secret  a  nice  one?” 

“  Oh,  is  n’t  it !  all  about  people  you  know,  and 
such  fun  !  You  ought  to  hear  it,  and  I  ’ve  been  aching 
to  tell  it  this  long  time.  Come,  you  begin.” 

“  You  ’ll  not  say  anything  about  it  at  home,  will  you?  ” 

“  Not  a  word.” 

“  And  you  won’t  tease  me  in  private?” 

“  I  never  tease.” 

“  Yes,  you  do;  you  get  everything  you  want  out  of 
people.  I  don’t  know  how  you  do  it,  but  you  are  a  born 
wheedler.” 

“  Thank  you  ;  fire  away.” 

“  Well,  I ’ve  left  two  stories  with  a  newspaper  man, 
and  he’s  to  give  his  answer  next  week,”  whispered  Jo, 
in  her  confidant’s  ear. 

“  Hurrah  for  Miss  March,  the  celebrated  American 
authoress !  ”  cried  Laurie,  throwing  up  his  hat  and 
catching  it  again,  to  the  great  delight  of  two  ducks,  four 
cats,  five  hens,  and  half  a  dozen  Irish  children ;  for  they 
were  out  of  the  city  now. 

“  Hush  !  It  won’t  come  to  anything,  I  dare  say;  but 
I  could  n’t  rest  till  I  had  tried,  and  I  said  nothing 
about  it,  because  I  did  n’t  want  any  one  else  to  be 
disappointed.” 


Secrets 


191 

“  It  won’t  fail.  Why,  Jo,  your  stories  are  works  of 
Shakespeare,  compared  to  half  the  rubbish  that  is  pub¬ 
lished  every  day.  Won’t  it  be  fun  to  see  them  in  print; 
and  sha’  n’t  we  feel  proud  of  our  authoress?  ” 

Jo’s  eyes  sparkled,  for  it  is  always  pleasant  to  be 
believed  in ;  and  a  friend’s  praise  is  always  sweeter  than 
a  dozen  newspaper  puffs. 

“Where’s  your  secret?  Play  fair,  Teddy,  or  I’ll 
never  believe  you  again,’’  she  said,  trying  to  extinguish 
the  brilliant  hopes  that  blazed  up  at  a  word  of 
encouragement. 

“I  may  get  into  a  scrape  for  telling;  but  I  didn’t 
promise  not  to,  so  I  will,  for  I  never  feel  easy  in  my 
mind  till  I ’ve  told  you  any  plummy  bit  of  news  I  get. 
I  know  where  Meg’s  glove  is.” 

“Is  that  all?”  said  Jo,  looking  disappointed,  as 
Laurie  nodded  and  twinkled,  with  a  face  full  of  mys¬ 
terious  intelligence. 

“  It ’s  quite  enough  for  the  present,  as  you  ’ll  agree 
when  I  tell  you  where  it  is.” 

“  Tell,  then.” 

Laurie  bent,  and  whispered  three  words  in  Jo’s  ear, 
which  produced  a  comical  change.  She  stood  and 
stared  at  him  for  a  minute,  looking  both  surprised  and 
displeased,  then  walked  on,  saying  sharply,  “  Plow  do 
you  know?” 

“  Saw  it.” 

“  Where?  ” 

“  Pocket.” 

“  All  this  time?  ” 

“  Yes  ;  is  n’t  that  romantic?  ” 

“  No,  it ’s  horrid.” 

“  Don’t  you  like  it?  ” 

“  Of  course  I  don’t.  It ’s  ridiculous ;  it  won’t  be 
allowed.  My  patience  !  what  would  Meg  say?  ” 


Little  Women 


192 

“  You  are  not  to  tell  any  one ;  mind  that.” 

“  I  did  n’t  promise.” 

“  That  was  understood,  and  I  trusted  you.” 

“Well,  I  won’t  for  the  present,  any  way;  but  I’m 
disgusted,  and  wish  you  had  n’t  told  me.” 

“  I  thought  you ’d  be  pleased.” 

“  At  the  idea  of  anybody  coming  to  take  Meg  away? 
No,  thank  you.” 

“  You  ’ll  feel  better  about  it  when  somebody  comes  to 
take  you  away.” 

“  I ’d  like  to  see  any  one  try  it,”  cried  Jo  fiercely. 

“  So  should  I  !  ”  and  Laurie  chuckled  at  the  idea. 

“  I  don’t  think  secrets  agree  with  me ;  I  feel  rumpled 
up  in  my  mind  since  you  told  me  that,”  said  Jo,  rather 
ungratefully. 

“  Race  down  this  hill  with  me,  and  you  ’ll  be  all  right,” 
suggested  Laurie. 

No  one  was  in  sight;  the  smooth  road  sloped  invit¬ 
ingly  before  her;  and  finding  the  temptation  irresistible, 
Jo  darted  away,  soon  leaving  hat  and  comb  behind  her, 
and  scattering  hair-pins  as  she  ran.  Laurie  reached 
the  goal  first,  and  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  success  of 
his  treatment ;  for  his  Atalanta  came  panting  up,  with 
flying  hair,  bright  eyes,  ruddy  cheeks,  and  no  signs  of 
dissatisfaction  in  her  face. 

“  I  wish  I  was  a  horse ;  then  I  could  run  for  miles  in 
this  splendid  air,  and  not  lose  my  breath.  It  was  capi¬ 
tal  ;  but  see  what  a  guy  it ’s  made  me.  Go,  pick  up 
my  things,  like  a  cherub  as  you  are,”  said  Jo,  dropping 
down  under  a  maple-tree,  which  was  carpeting  the  bank 
with  crimson  leaves. 

Laurie  leisurely  departed  to  recover  the  lost  property, 
and  Jo  bundled  up  her  braids,  hoping  no  one  would 
pass  by  till  she  was  tidy  again.  But  some  one  did  pass, 


Secrets 


*93 

and  who  should  it  be  but  Meg,  looking  particularly 
ladylike  in  her  state  and  festival  suit,  for  she  had  been 
making  calls. 

“  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  here?”  she  asked, 
regarding  her  dishevelled  sister  with  well-bred  surprise. 

“  Getting  leaves,”  meekly  answered  Jo,  sorting  the 
rosy  handful  she  had  just  swept  up. 

“  And  hair-pins,”  added  Laurie,  throwing  half  a  dozen 
into  Jo’s  lap.  “  They  grow  on  this  road,  Meg;  so  do 
combs  and  brown  straw  hats.” 

“You  have  been  running,  Jo;  how  could  you?  When 
will  you  stop  such  romping  ways?”  said  Meg  reprov¬ 
ingly,  as  she  settled  her  cuffs,  and  smoothed  her  hair, 
with  which  the  wind  had  taken  liberties. 

“  Never  till  I ’m  stiff  and  old,  and  have  to  use  a 
crutch.  Don’t  try  to  make  me  grow  up  before  my 
time,  Meg :  it ’s  hard  enough  to  have  you  change  all  of 
a  sudden ;  let  me  be  a  little  girl  as  long  as  I  can.” 

As  she  spoke,  Jo  bent  over  the  leaves  to  hide  the 
trembling  of  her  lips ;  for  lately  she  had  felt  that  Mar¬ 
garet  was  fast  getting  to  be  a  woman,  and  Laurie’s 
secret  made  her  dread  the  separation  which  must  surely 
come  some  time,  and  now  seemed  very  near.  He  saw 
the  trouble  in  her  face,  and  drew  Meg’s  attention  from 
it  by  asking  quickly,  “  Where  have  you  been  calling, 
all  so  fine  ?  ” 

“  At  the  Gardiners’,  and  Sallie  has  been  telling  me  all 
about  Belle  Moffat’s  wedding.  It  was  very  splendid, 
and  they  have  gone  to  spend  the  winter  in  Paris.  Just 
think  how  delightful  that  must  be  !  ” 

“  Do  you  envy  her,  Meg?  ”  said  Laurie. 

“  I ’m  afraid  I  do.” 

“  I ’m  glad  of  it !  ”  muttered  Jo,  tying  on  her  hat  with 
a  jerk. 


*3 


Little  Women 


194 

“  Why?  ”  asked  Meg,  looking  surprised. 

“  Because  if  you  care  much  about  riches,  you  will 
never  go  and  marry  a  poor  man,”  said  Jo,  frowning  at 
Laurie,  who  was  mutely  warning  her  to  mind  what 
she  said. 

“  I  shall  never  1  go  and  marry  ’  any  one,”  observed 
Meg,  walking  on  with  great  dignity,  while  the  others 
followed,  laughing,  whispering,  skipping  stones,  and 
“  behaving  like  children,”  as  Meg  said  to  herself,  though 
she  might  have  been  tempted  to  join  them  if  she  had 
not  had  her  best  dress'  on. 

For  a  week  or  two,  Jo  behaved  so  queerly  that  her 
sisters  where  quite  bewildered.  She  rushed  to  the  door 
when  the  postman  rang;  was  rude  to  Mr.  Brooke  when¬ 
ever  they  met;  would  sit  looking  at  Meg  with  a  woe¬ 
begone  face,  occasionally  jumping  up  to  shake,  and  then 
to  kiss  her,  in  a  very  mysterious  manner;  Laurie  and 
she  were  always  making  signs  to  one  another,  and  talk¬ 
ing  about  “  Spread  Eagles,”  till  the  girls  declared  they 
had  both  lost  their  wits.  On  the  second  Saturday  after 
Jo  got  out  of  the  window,  Meg,  as  she  sat  sewing  at  her 
window,  was  scandalized  by  the  sight  of  Laurie  chasing 
Jo  all  over  the  garden,  and  finally  capturing  her  in 
Amy’s  bower.  What  went  on  there,  Meg  could  not 
see  ;  but  shrieks  of  laughter  were  heard,  followed  by  the 
murmur  of  voices  and  a  great  flapping  of  newspapers. 

“  What  shall  we  do  with  that  girl?  She  never  will 
behave  like  a  young  lady,”  sighed  Meg,  as  she  watched 
the  race  with  a  disapproving  face. 

“  I  hope  she  won’t ;  she  is  so  funny  and  dear  as  she 
is,”  said  Beth,  who  had  never  betrayed  that  she  was  a 
little  hurt  at  Jo’s  having  secrets  with  any  one  but  her. 

“  It ’s  very  trying,  but  we  never  can  make  her  commy 
la  fay  ’  added  Amy,  who  sat  making  some  new  frills  for 


Secrets 


l95 

herself,  with  her  curls  tied  up  in  a  very  becoming  way, 
—  two  agreeable  things,  which  made  her  feel  unusually 
elegant  and  ladylike. 

In  a  few  minutes  Jo  bounced  in,  laid  herself  on  the 
sofa,  and  affected  to  read. 

“  Have  you  anything  interesting  there?  ”  asked  Meg, 
with  condescension. 

“Nothing  but  a  story;  won’t  amount  to  much,  I 
guess,”  returned  Jo,  carefully  keeping  the  name  of  the 
paper  out  of  sight. 

“You ’d  better  read  it  aloud;  that  will  amuse  us  and 
keep  you  out  of  mischief,”  said  Amy,  in  her  most 
grown-up  tone. 

“  What’s  the  name?  ”  asked  Beth,  wondering  why  Jo 
kept  her  face  behind  the  sheet. 

“  The  Rival  Painters.” 

“  That  sounds  well ;  read  it,”  said  Meg. 

With  a  loud  “  Hem  !  ”  and  a  long  breath,  Jo  began  to 
read  very  fast.  The  girls  listened  with  interest,  for  the 
tale  was  romantic,  and  somewhat  pathetic,  as  most  of 
the  characters  died  in  the  end. 

“  I  like  that  about  the  splendid  picture,”  was  Amy’s 
approving  remark,  as  Jo  paused. 

“  I  prefer  the  lovering  part,  Viola  and  Angelo  are 
two  of  our  favorite  names;  isn’t  that  queer?”  said 
Meg,  wiping  her  eyes,  for  the  “  lovering  part  ”  was 
tragical. 

“  Who  wrote  it?  ”  asked  Beth,  who  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Jo’s  face. 

The  reader  suddenly  sat  up,  cast  away  the  paper, 
displaying  a  flushed  countenance,  and,  with  a  funny 
mixture  of  solemnity  and  excitement,  replied  in  a  loud 
voice,  “Your  sister.” 

“You?  ”  cried  Meg,  dropping  her  work. 


Little  Women 


1 96 

“  It ’s  very  good,”  said  Amy  critically. 

“  I  knew  it !  I  knew  it !  O  my  Jo,  I  am  so  proud  !  M 
and  Beth  ran  to  hug  her  sister,  and  exult  over  this 
splendid  success. 

Dear  me,  how  delighted  they  all  were,  to  be  sure ! 
how  Meg  would  n’t  believe  it  till  she  saw  the  words, 
“  Miss  Josephine  March,”  actually  printed  in  the  paper; 
how  graciously  Amy  criticised  the  artistic  parts  of  the 
story,  and  offered  hints  for  a  sequel,  which  unfortu¬ 
nately  could  n’t  be  carried  out,  as  the  hero  and  heroine 
were  dead ;  how  Beth  got  excited,  and  skipped  and  sung 
with  joy;  how  Hannah  came  in  to  exclaim  “  Sakes 
alive,  well  I  never !  ”  in  great  astonishment  at  “  that  Jo’s 
doin’s;  ”  how  proud  Mrs.  March  was  when  she  knew  it; 
how  Jo  laughed,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  as  she  declared 
she  mi  ght  as  well  be  a  peacock  and  done  with  it;  and 
how  the  “Spread  Eagle”  might  be  said  to  flap  his 
wings  triumphantly  over  the  House  of  March,  as  the 
paper  passed  from  hand  to  hand. 

“  Tell  us  all  about  it.”  “  When  did  it  come  ?  ”  “How 
much  did  you  get  for  it?”  “What  will  father  say?” 
“Won’t  Laurie  laugh?”  cried  the  family,  all  in  one 
breath,  as  they  clustered  about  Jo;  for  these  foolish, 
affectionate  people  made  a  jubilee  of  every  little  house¬ 
hold  joy. 

“  Stop  jabbering,  girls,  and  I  ’ll  tell  you  everything,” 
said  Jo,  wondering  if  Miss  Burney  felt  any  grander  over 
her  “  Evelina  ”  than  she  did  over  her  “  Rival  Painters.” 
Having  told  how  she  disposed  of  her  tales,  Jo  added, 
“  And  when  I  went  to  get  my  answer,  the  man  said  he 
liked  them  both,  but  did  n’t  pay  beginners,  only  let 
them  print  in  his  paper,  and  noticed  the  stories.  It  was 
good  practice,  he  said ;  and  when  the  beginners  im¬ 
proved,  any  one  would  pay.  So  I  let  him  have  the  two 


. 


A  Telegram  197 

stories,  and  to-day  this  was  sent  to  me,  and  Laurie 
caught  me  with  it,  and  insisted  on  seeing  it,  so  I  let  him ; 
and  he  said  it  was  good,  and  I  shall  write  more,  and  he ’s 
going  to  get  the  next  paid  for,  and  I  am  so  happy,  for 
in  time  I  may  be  able  to  support  myself  and  help  the 
girls.” 

Jo’s  breath  gave  out  here;  and,  wrapping  her  head  in 
the  paper,  she  bedewed  her  little  story  with  a  few  natu¬ 
ral  tears ;  for  to  be  independent,  and  earn  the  praise  of 
those  she  loved  were  the  dearest  wishes  of  her  heart, 
and  this  seemed  to  be  the  first  step  toward  that  happy 
end. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  TELEGRAM 


M 


OVEMBER  is  the  most  disagreeable  month 
in  the  whole  year,”  said  Margaret,  standing 
at  the  window  one  dull  afternoon,  looking 
out  at  the  frost-bitten  garden. 

“  That ’s  the  reason  I  was  born  in  it,”  observed  Jo 
pensively,  quite  unconscious  of  the  blot  on  her  nose. 

“  If  something  very  pleasant  should  happen  now,  we 
should  think  it  a  delightful  month,”  said  Beth,  who  took 
a  hopeful  view  of  everything,  even  November. 

“  I  dare  say ;  but  nothing  pleasant  ever  does  happen 
in  this  family,”  said  Meg,  who  was  out  of  sorts.  “  We 
go  grubbing  along  day  after  day,  without  a  bit  of  change, 
and  very  little  fun.  We  might  as  well  be  in  a  treadmill.” 

“  My  patience,  how  blue  we  are  !  ”  cried  Jo.  “  I  don’t 
much  wonder,  poor  dear,  for  you  see  other  girls  having 
splendid  times,  while  you  grind,  grind,  year  in  and  year 


Little  Women 


198 

out.  Oh,  don’t  I  wish  I  could  manage  things  for  you 
as  I  do  for  my  heroines!  You’re  pretty  enough  and 
good  enough  already,  so  I ’d  have  some  rich  relation 
leave  you  a  fortune  unexpectedly ;  then  you 'd  dash  out 
as  an  heiress,  scorn  every  one  who  has  slighted  you,  gc 
abroad,  and  come  home  my  Lady  Something,  in  a  blaze 
of  splendor  and  elegance.” 

“  People  don’t  have  fortunes  left  them  in  that  style 
now-a-days ;  men  have  to  work,  and  women  to  marry 
for  money.  It’s  a  dreadfully  unjust  world,”  said  Meg 
bitterly. 

“  Jo  and  I  are  going  to  make  fortunes  for  you  all ; 
just  wait  ten  years,  and  see  if  we  don’t,”  said  Amy,  who 
sat  in  a  corner,  making  mud  pies,  as  Hannah  called  her 
little  clay  models  of  birds,  fruit,  and  faces. 

“  Can’t  wait,  and  I ’m  afraid  I  have  n’t  much  faith  in  ink 
and  dirt,  though  I ’m  grateful  for  your  good  intentions.” 

Meg  sighed,  and  turned  to  the  frost-bitten  garden 
again;  Jo  groaned,  and  leaned  both  elbows  on  the 
table  in  a  despondent  attitude,  but  Amy  spatted  away 
energetically ;  and  Beth,  who  sat  at  the  other  window, 
said,  smiling,  “  Two  pleasant  things  are  going  to  happen 
right  away :  Marmee  is  coming  down  the  street,  and 
Laurie  is  tramping  through  the  garden  as  if  he  had 
something  nice  to  tell.” 

In  they  both  came,  Mrs.  March  with  her  usual  ques¬ 
tion,  “  Any  letter  from  father,  girls?  ”  and  Laurie  to  say 
in  his  persuasive  way,  “  Won’t  some  of  you  come  for 
a  drive?  I’ve  been  working  away  at  mathematics  till 
my  head  is  in  a  muddle,  and  I ’m  going  to  freshen  my 
wits  by  a  brisk  turn.  It’s  a  dull  day,  but  the  air  isn’t 
bad,  and  I ’m  going  to  take  Brooke  home,  so  it  will  be 
gay  inside,  if  it  is  n’t  out.  Come,  Jo,  you  and  Beth  will 
go,  won’t  you  ?  ” 


A  Telegram  199 

“  Of  course  we  will.” 

‘‘Much  obliged,  but  I’m  busy;”  and  Meg  whisked 
out  her  work-basket,  for  she  had  agreed  with  her 
mother  that  it  was  best,  for  her  at  least,  not  to  drive 
often  with  the  young  gentleman. 

“We  three  will  be  ready  in  a  minute,”  cried  Amy, 
running  away  to  wash  her  hands. 

“  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Madam  Mother  ?  ” 
asked  Laurie,  leaning  over  Mrs.  March’s  chair,  with  the 
affectionate  look  and  tone  he  always  gave  her. 

“  No,  thank  you,  except  call  at  the  office,  if  you  ’ll  be 
so  kind,  dear.  It ’s  our  day  for  a  letter,  and  the  post¬ 
man  has  n’t  been.  Father  is  as  regular  as  the  sun,  but 
there ’s  some  delay  on  the  way,  perhaps.” 

A  sharp  ring  interrupted  her,  and  a  minute  after  Han¬ 
nah  came  in  with  a  letter. 

“  It ’s  one  of  them  horrid  telegraph  things,  mum,” 
she  said,  handing  it  as  if  she  was  afraid  it  would  explode 
and  do  some  damage. 

At  the  word  “telegraph,”  Mrs.  March  snatched  it, 
read  the  two  lines  it  contained,  and  dropped  back  into 
her  chair  as  white  as  if  the  little  paper  had  sent  a  bullet 
to  her  heart.  Laurie  dashed  down  stairs  for  water,  while 
Meg  and  Hannah  supported  her,  and  Jo  read  aloud,  in  a 
frightened  voice,  — 

“  Mrs.  March  : 

“  Your  husband  is  very  ill.  Come  at  once. 

“  S.  Hale, 

“  Blank  Hospital,  Washington.” 

How  still  the  room  was  as  they  listened  breathlessly, 
how  strangely  the  day  darkened  outside,  and  how  sud¬ 
denly  the  whole  world  seemed  to  change,  as  the  girls 


200 


Little  Women 


gathered  about  their  mother,  feeling  as  if  all  the  happi¬ 
ness  and  support  of  their  lives  was  about  to  be  taken 
from  them.  Mrs.  March  was  herself  again  directly, 
read  the  message  over,  and  stretched  out  her  arms  to 
her  daughters,  saying,  in  a  tone  they  never  forgot,  “  I 
shall  go  at  once,  but  it  may  be  too  late.  O  children, 
children,  help  me  to  bear  it  !  ” 

For  several  minutes  there  was  nothing  but  the  sound 
of  sobbing  in  the  room,  mingled  with  broken  words  of 
comfort,  tender  assurances  of  help,  and  hopeful  whis¬ 
pers  that  died  away  in  tears.  Poor  Hannah  was  the 
first  to  recover,  and  with  unconscious  wisdom  she  set  all 
the  rest  a  good  example ;  for,  with  her,  work  was  the 
panacea  for  most  afflictions. 

“  The  Lord  keep  the  dear  man !  I  won’t  waste  no 
time  a  cryin’,  but  git  your  things  ready  right  away, 
mum,”  she  said  heartily,  as  she  wiped  her  face  on  her 
apron,  gave  her  mistress  a  warm  shake  of  the  hand  with 
her  own  hard  one,  and  went  away,  to  work  like  three 
women  in  one. 

“  She ’s  right ;  there  ’s  no  time  for  tears  now.  Be 
calm,  girls,  and  let  me  think.” 

They  tried  to  be  calm,  poor  things,  as  their  mother 
sat  up,  looking  pale,  but  steady,  and  put  away  her  grief 
to  think  and  plan  for  them. 

“Where’s  Laurie?”  she  asked  presently,  when  she 
had  collected  her  thoughts,  and  decided  on  the  first 
duties  to  be  done. 

“  Here,  ma’am.  Oh,  let  me  do  something !  ”  cried 
the  boy,  hurrying  from  the  next  room,  whither  he  had 
withdrawn,  feeling  that  their  first  sorrow  was  too  sacred 
for  even  his  friendly  eyes  to  see. 

“  Send  a  telegram  saying  I  will  come  at  once.  The 
next  train  goes  early  in  the  morning.  I  ’ll  take  that.” 


A  Telegram  201 

“What  else?  The  horses  are  ready;  I  can  go  any¬ 
where,  do  anything,”  he  said,  looking  ready  to  fly  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth. 

“  Leave  a  note  at  Aunt  March’s.  Jo,  give  me  that 
pen  and  paper.” 

Tearing  off  the  blank  side  of  one  of  her  newly  copied 
pages,  Jo  drew  the  table  before  her  mother,  well  know¬ 
ing  that  money  for  the  long,  sad  journey  must  be  bor¬ 
rowed,  and  feeling  as  if  she  could  do  anything  to  add  a 
little  to  the  sum  for  her  father. 

“Now  go,  dear;  but  don’t  kill  yourself  driving  at  a 
desperate  pace;  there  is  no  need  of  that.” 

Mrs.  March’s  warning  was  evidently  thrown  away ; 
for  five  minutes  later  Laurie  tore  by  the  window  on  his 
own  fleet  horse,  riding  as  if  for  his  life. 

“  Jo,  run  to  the  rooms,  and  tell  Mrs.  King  that  I  can’t 
come.  On  the  way  get  these  things.  I  ’ll  put  them 
down ;  they  ’ll  be  needed,  and  I  must  go  prepared  for 
nursing.  Hospital  stores  are  not  always  good.  Beth, 
go  and  ask  Mr.  Laurence  for  a  couple  of  bottles  of  old 
wine:  I’m  not  too  proud  to  beg  for  father;  he  shall 
have  the  best  of  everything.  Amy,  tell  Hannah  to  get 
down  the  black  trunk;  and,  Meg,  come  and  help  me 
find  my  things,  for  I ’m  half  bewildered.” 

Writing,  thinking,  and  directing,  all  at  once,  might 
well  bewilder  the  poor  lady,  and  Meg  begged  her  to  sit 
quietly  in  her  room  for  a  little  while,  and  let  them  work. 
Every  one  scattered  like  leaves  before  a  gust  of  wind ; 
and  the  quiet,  happy  household  was  broken  up  as  sud¬ 
denly  as  if  the  paper  had  been  an  evil  spell. 

Mr.  Laurence  came  hurrying  back  with  Beth,  bring¬ 
ing  every  comfort  the  kind  old  gentleman  could  think 
of  for  the  invalid,  and  friendliest  promises  of  protection 
for  the  girls  during  the  mother’s  absence,  which  com- 


202 


Little  Women 


forted  her  very  much.  There  -was  nothing  he  did  n't 
offer,  from  his  own  dressing-gown  to  himself  as  escort. 
But  that  last  was  impossible.  Mrs.  March  would 
not  hear  of  the  old  gentleman’s  undertaking  the 
long  journey;  yet  an  expression  of  relief  was  visible 
when  he  spoke  of  it,  for  anxiety  ill  fits  one  for  travelling. 
He  saw  the  look,  knit  his  heavy  eyebrows,  rubbed  his 
hands,  and  marched  abruptly  away,  saying  he ’d  be 
back  directly.  No  one  had  time  to  think  of  him  again 
till,  as  Meg  ran  through  the  entry,  with  a  pair  of  rub¬ 
bers  in  one  hand  and  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  other,  she 
came  suddenly  upon  Mr.  Brooke. 

“  I  ’m  very  sorry  to  hear  of  this,  Miss  March,”  he  said, 
in  the  kind,  quiet  tone  which  sounded  very  pleasantly 
to  her  perturbed  spirit.  “  I  came  to  offer  myself  as 
escort  to  your  mother.  Mr.  Laurence  has  commissions 
for  me  in  Washington,  and  it  will  give  me  real  satisfac¬ 
tion  to  be  of  service  to  her  there.” 

Down  dropped  the  rubbers,  and  the  tea  was  very 
near  following,  as  Meg  put  out  her  hand,  with  a  face  so 
full  of  gratitude,  that  Mr.  Brooke  would  have  felt  repaid 
for  a  much  greater  sacrifice  than  the  trifling  one  of  time 
and  comfort  which  he  was  about  to  make. 

“  How  kind  you  all  are  !  Mother  will  accept,  I  ’m 
sure ;  and  it  will  be  such  a  relief  to  know  that  she  has 
some  one  to  take  care  of  her.  Thank  you  very,  very 
much !  ” 

Meg  spoke  earnestly,  and  forgot  herself  entirely  till 
something  in  the  brown  eyes  looking  down  at  her  made 
her  remember  the  cooling  tea,  and  lead  the  way  into 
the  parlor,  saying  she  would  call  her  mother. 

Everything  was  arranged  by  the  time  Laurie  returned 
with  a  note  from  Aunt  March,  enclosing  the  desired 
sum,  and  a  few  lines  repeating  what  she  had  often  said 


A  Telegram  203 

before,  —  that  she  had  always  told  them  it  was  absurd 
for  March  to  go  into  the  army,  always  predicted  that 
no  good  would  come  of  it,  and  she  hoped  they  would 
take  her  advice  next  time.  Mrs.  March  put  the  note  in 
the  fire,  the  money  in  her  purse,  and  went  on  with  her 
preparations,  with  her  lips  folded  tightly,  in  a  way  which 
Jo  would  have  understood  if  she  had  been  there. 

The  short  afternoon  wore  away ;  all  the  other  errands 
were  done,  and  Meg  and  her  mother  busy  at  some 
necessary  needlework,  while  Beth  and  Amy  got  tea,  and 
Hannah  finished  her  ironing  with  what  she  called  a 
“  slap  and  a  bang,”  but  still  Joe  did  not  come.  They 
began  to  get  anxious ;  and  Laurie  went  off  to  find  her, 
for  no  one  ever  knew  what  freak  Jo  might  take  into  her 
head.  He  missed  her,  however,  and  she  came  walking 
in  with  a  very  queer  expression  of  countenance,  for 
there  was  a  mixture  of  fun  and  fear,  satisfaction  and 
regret,  in  it,  which  puzzled  the  family  as  much  as  did 
the  roll  of  bills  she  laid  before  her  mother,  saying,  with 
a  little  choke  in  her  voice,  “  That ’s  my  contribution 
towards  making  father  comfortable  and  bringing  him 
home  !  ” 

“  My  dear,  where  did  you  get  it?  Twenty-five  dol¬ 
lars  !  Jo,  I  hope  you  have  n’t  done  anything  rash?  ” 
“No,  it’s  mine  honestly;  I  didn’t  beg,  borrow,  or 
steal  it.  I  earned  it;  and  I  don’t  think  you’ll  blame 
me,  for  I  only  sold  what  was  my  own.” 

As  she  spoke,  Jo  took  off  her  bonnet,  and  a  general 
outcry  arose,  for  all  her  abundant  hair  was  cut  short. 

“Your  hair!  Your  beautiful  hair!”  “O  Jo,  how 
could  you?  Your  one  beauty.”  “My  dear  girl,  there 
was  no  need  of  this.”  “  She  does  n’t  look  like  my  Jo 
any  more,  but  I  love  her  dearly  for  it !  ” 

As  every  one  exclaimed,  and  Beth  hugged  the 


I 


Little  Women 


204 

cropped  head  tenderly,  Jo  assumed  an  indifferent  air, 
which  did  not  deceive  any  one  a  particle,  and  said, 
rumpling  up  the  brown  bush,  and  trying  to  look  as  if 
she  liked  it,  “  It  doesn’t  affect  the  fate  of  the  nation,  so 
don’t  wail,  Beth.  It  will  be  good  for  my  vanity;  I  was 
getting  too  proud  of  my  wig.  It  will  do  my  brains 
good  to  have  that  mop  taken  off;  my  head  feels 
deliciously  light  and  cool,  and  the  barber  said  I  could 
soon  have  a  curly  crop,  which  will  be  boyish,  becoming, 
and  easy  to  keep  in  order.  I  ’m  satisfied ;  so  please 
take  the  money,  and  let ’s  have  supper.” 

“Tell  me  all  about  it,  Jo.  /am  not  quite  satisfied, 
but  I  can’t  blame  you,  for  I  know  how  willingly  you 
sacrificed  your  vanity,  as  you  call  it,  to  your  love. 
But,  my  dear,  it  was  not  necessary,  and  I  ’m  afraid  you 
will  regret  it,  one  of  these  days,”  said  Mrs.  March. 

“  No,  I  won’t !  ”  returned  Jo  stoutly,  feeling  much 
relieved  that  her  prank  was  not  entirely  condemned. 

“  What  made  you  do  it?  ”  asked  Amy,  who  would  as 
soon  have  thought  of  cutting  off  her  head  as  her  pretty 
hair. 

“Well,  I  was  wild  to  do  something  for  father,”  replied 
Jo,  as  they  gathered  about  the  table,  for  healthy  young 
people  can  eat  even  in  the  midst  of  trouble.  “  I  hate  to 
borrow  as  much  as  mother  does,  and  I  knew  Aunt  March 
would  croak  ;  she  always  does,  if  you  ask  for  a  ninepence. 
Meg  gave  all  her  quarterly  salary  toward  the  rent,  and 
I  only  got  some  clothes  with  mine,  so  I  felt  wicked,  and 
was  bound  to  have  some  money,  if  I  sold  the  nose  off 
my  face  to  get  it.” 

“  You  need  n’t  feel  wicked,  my  child  :  you  had  no 
winter  things,  and  got  the  simplest  with  your  own  hard 
earnings,”  said  Mrs.  March,  with  a  look  that  warmed 
Jo’s  heart 


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j-'t  fe 

A  Telegram  205 

“  I  had  n’t  the  least  idea  of  selling  my  hair  at  first, 
but  as  I  went  along  I  kept  thinking  what  I  could  do, 
and  feeling  as  if  I ’d  like  to  dive  into  some  of  the  rich 
stores  and  help  myself.  In  a  barber’s  window  I  saw 
tails  of  hair  with  the  prices  marked ;  and  one  black  tail, 
not  so  thick  as  mine,  was  forty  dollars.  It  came  over  me 
all  of  a  sudden  that  I  had  one  thing  to  make  money  out 
of,  and  without  stopping  to  think,  I  walked  in,  asked 
if  they  bought  hair,  and  what  they  would  give  for  mine.” 

“  I  don’t  see  how  you  dared  to  do  it,”  said  Beth,  in  a 
tone  of  awe. 

“  Oh,  he  was  a  little  man  who  looked  as  if  he  merely 
lived  to  oil  his  hair.  He  rather  stared,  at  first,  as  if  he 
was  n’t  used  to  having  girls  bounce  into  his  shop  and 
ask  him  to  buy  their  hair.  He  said  he  did  n’t  care 
about  mine,  it  was  n’t  the  fashionable  color,  and  he 
never  paid  much  for  it  in  the  first  place;  the  work  put 
into  it  made  it  dear,  and  so  on.  It  was  getting  late,  and 
I  was  afraid,  if  it  was  n’t  done  right  away,  that  I 
should  n’t  have  it  done  at  all,  and  you  know  when  I 
start  to  do  a  thing,  I  hate  to  give  it  up  ;  so  I  begged 
him  to  take  it,  and  told  him  why  I  was  in  such  a  hurry. 
It  was  silly,  I  dare  say,  but  it  changed  his  mind,  for  I 
got  rather  excited,  and  told  the  story  in  my  topsy-turvy 
way,  and  his  wife  heard,  and  said  so  kindly,  — 

“‘Take  it,  Thomas,  and  oblige  the  young  lady;  I’d 
do  as  much  for  our  Jimmy  any  day  if  I  had  a  spire  of 
hair  worth  selling.’  ” 

“Who  was  Jimmy?”  asked  Amy,  who  liked  to  have 
things  explained  as  they  went  along. 

“  Her  son,  she  said,  who  was  in  the  army.  How 
friendly  such  things  make  strangers  feel,  don’t  they? 
She  talked  away  all  the  time  the  man  clipped,  and 
diverted  my  mind  nicely.” 


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Little  Women 


“  Did  n’t  you  feel  dreadfully  when  the  first  cut  came? 
asked  Meg,  with  a  shiver. 

“  I  took  a  last  look  at  my  hair  while  the  man  got  his 
things,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it.  I  never  snivel  over 
trifles  like  that;  I  will  confess,  though,  I  felt  queer  when 
I  saw  the  dear  old  hair  laid  out  on  the  table,  and  felt 
only  the  short,  rough  ends  on  my  head.  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  I ’d  an  arm  or  a  leg  off.  The  woman  saw 
me  look  at  it,  and  picked  out  a  long  lock  for  me  to  keep. 
I  ’ll  give  it  to  you,  Marmee,  just  to  remember  past 
glories  by;  for  a  crop  is  so  comfortable  I  don’t  think 
I  shall  ever  have  a  mane  again.” 

Mrs.  March  folded  the  wavy  chestnut  lock,  and  laid  it 
away  with  a  short  gray  one  in  her  desk.  She  only  said 
**  Thank  you,  deary,”  but  something  in  her  face  made 
the  girls  change  the  subject,  and  talk  as  cheerfully  as 
they  could  about  Mr.  Brooke’s  kindness,  the  prospect  of 
a  fine  day  to-morrow,  and  the  happy  times  they  would 
have  when  father  came  home  to  be  nursed. 

No  one  wanted  to  go  to  bed,  when,  at  ten  o’clock, 
Mrs.  March  put  by  the  last  finished  job,  and  said, 
“  Come,  girls.”  Beth  went  to  the  piano  and  played  the 
father’s  favorite  hymn ;  all  began  bravely,  but  broke 
down  one  by  one,  till  Beth  was  left  alone,  singing  with 
all  her  heart,  for  to  her  music  was  always  a  sweet  consoler. 

“  Go  to  bed  and  don’t  talk,  for  we  must  be  up  early, 
and  shall  need  all  the  sleep  we  can  get.  Good-night, 
my  darlings,”  said  Mrs.  March,  as  the  hymn  ended,  for 
no  one  cared  to  try  another. 

They  kissed  her  quietly,  and  went  to  bed  as  silently  as 
if  the  dear  invalid  lay  in  the  next  room.  Beth  and  Amy 
soon  fell  asleep  in  spite  of  the  great  trouble,  but  Meg 
lay  awake,  thinking  the  most  serious  thoughts  she  had 
ever  known  in  her  short  life.  Jo  lay  motionless,  and  her 


A  Telegram  207 

sister  fancied  that  she  was  asleep,  till  a  stifled  sob  made 
ner  exclaim,  as  she  touched  a  wet  cheek,  — 

“  Jo,  dear,  what  is  it?  Are  you  crying  about  father?  ” 

“  No,  not  now.” 

“  What  then  ?  ” 

“  My  —  my  hair  !  ”  burst  out  poor  Jo,  trying  vainly  to 
smother  her  emotion  in  the  pillow. 

It  did  not  sound  at  all  comical  to  Meg,  who  kissed 
and  caressed  the  afflicted  heroine  in  the  tenderest  manner. 

“  I ’m  not  sorry,”  protested  Jo,  with  a  choke.  “  I ’d 
do  it  again  to-morrow,  if  I  could.  It ’s  only  the  vain, 
selfish  part  of  me  that  goes  and  cries  in  this  silly  way. 
Don’t  tell  any  one,  it ’s  all  over  now.  I  thought  you 
were  asleep,  so  I  just  made  a  little  private  moan  for  my 
one  beauty.  How  came  you  to  be  awake?” 

“  I  can’t  sleep,  I ’m  so  anxious,”  said  Meg. 

“  Think  about  something  pleasant,  and  you  ’ll  soon 
drop  off.” 

“  I  tried  it,  but  felt  wider  awake  than  ever.” 

“  What  did  you  think  of  ?  ” 

“  Handsome  faces,  —  eyes  particularly,”  answered 
Meg,  smiling  to  herself,  in  the  dark. 

“  What  color  do  you  like  best?  ” 

“Brown  —  that  is,  sometimes;  blue  are  lovely.” 

Jo  laughed,  and  Meg  sharply  ordered  her  not  to  talk, 
then  amiably  promised  to  make  her  hair  curl,  and  fell 
asleep  to  dream  of  living  in  her  castle  in  the  air. 

The  clocks  were  striking  midnight,  and  the  rooms 
were  very  still,  as  a  figure  glided  quietly  from  bed  to 
bed,  smoothing  a  coverlid  here,  settling  a  pillow  there, 
and  pausing  to  look  long  and  tenderly  at  each  uncon¬ 
scious  face,  to  kiss  each  with  lips  that  mutely  blessed, 
and  to  pray  the  fervent  prayers  which  only  mothers 
utter.  As  she  lifted  the  curtain  to  look  out  into  the 


2o8 


Little  Women 


dreary  night,  the  moon  broke  suddenly  from  behind 
the  clouds,  and  shone  upon  her  like  a  bright,  benignant 
face,  which  seemed  to  whisper  in  the  silence,  “  Be  com¬ 
forted,  dear  soul !  There  is  always  light  behind  the 
clouds.” 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LETTERS 

IN  the  cold  gray  dawn  the  sisters  lit  their  lamp,  and 
read  their  chapter  with  an  earnestness  never  felt 
before ;  for  now  the  shadow  of  a  real  trouble  had 
come,  the  little  books  were  full  of  help  and  comfort ;  and, 
as  they  dressed,  they  agreed  to  say  good-by  cheerfully 
and  hopefully,  and  send  their  mother  on  her  anxious 
journey  unsaddened  by  tears  or  complaints  from  them. 
Everything  seemed  very  strange  when  they  went  down, 
—  so  dim  and  still  outside,  so  full  of  light  and  bustle 
within.  Breakfast  at  that  early  hour  seemed  odd,  and 
even  Hannah’s  familiar  face  looked  unnatural  as  she  flew 
about  her  kitchen  with  her  night-cap  on.  The  big  trunk 
stood  ready  in  the  hall,  mother’s  cloak  and  bonnet  lay 
on  the  sofa,  and  mother  herself  sat  trying  to  eat,  but 
looking  so  pale  and  worn  with  sleeplessness  and  anxiety 
that  the  girls  found  it  very  hard  to  keep  their  resolution. 
Meg’s  eyes  kept  filling  in  spite  of  herself ;  Jo  was  obliged 
to  hide  her  face  in  the  kitchen  roller  more  than  once ; 
and  the  little  girls’  wore  a  grave,  troubled  expression,  as 
if  sorrow  was  a  new  experience  to  them. 

Nobody  talked  much,  but  as  the  time  drew  very  near, 
and  they  sat  waiting  for  the  carriage,  Mrs.  March  said  to 
the  girls,  who  were  all  busied  about  her,  one  folding  her 


Letters 


209 

shawl,  another  smoothing  out  the  strings  of  her  bonnet, 
a  third  putting  on  her  overshoes,  and  a  fourth  fastening 

» 

up  her  travelling  bag,  — 

“  Children,  I  leave  you  to  Hannah’s  care  and  Mr. 
Laurence’s  protection.  Hannah  is  faithfulness  itself,  and 
our  good  neighbor  will  guard  you  as  if  you  were  his  own. 

4 

I  have  no  fears  for  you,  yeti  am  anxious  that  you  should 
take  this  trouble  rightly.  Don’t  grieve  and  fret  when  I 
am  gone,  or  think  that  you  can  comfort  yourselves  by 
being  idle  and  trying  to  forget.  Go  on  with  your  work 
as  usual,  for  work  is  a  blessed  solace.  Hope  and  keep 
busy ;  and  whatever  happens,  remember  that  you  never 
can  be  fatherless.” 

“  Yes,  mother.” 

“  Meg,  dear,  be  prudent,  watch  over  your  sisters,  con¬ 
sult  Hannah,  and,  in  any  perplexity,  go  to  Mr.  Laurence. 
Be  patient,  Jo,  don’t  get  despondent  or  do  rash  things; 
write  to  me  often,  and  be  my  brave  girl,  ready  to  help 
and  cheer  us  all.  Beth,  comfort  yourself  with  your 
music,  and  be  faithful  to  the  little  home  duties;  and  you, 
Amy,  help  all  you  can,  be  obedient,  and  keep  happy 
safe  at  home.” 

“We  will,  mother  !  we  will  !  ” 

The  rattle  of  an  approaching  carriage  made  them  all 
start  and  listen.  That  was  the  hard  minute,  but  the  girls 
stood  it  well :  no  one  cried,  no  one  ran  away  or  uttered 
a  lamentation,  though  their  hearts  were  very  heavy  as 
they  sent  loving  messages  to  father,  remembering,  as 
they  spoke,  that  it  might  be  too  late  to  deliver  them. 
They  kissed  their  mother  quietly,  clung  about  her 
tenderly,  and  tried  to  wave  their  hands  cheerfully  when 
she  drove  away. 

Laurie  and  his  grandfather  came  over  to  see  her  off, 
and  Mr.  Brooke  looked  so  strong  and  sensible  and  kind 

H 


210  Little  Women 

that  the  girls  christened  him  “Mr.  Greatheart  ”  on  the 
spot. 

“  Good-by,  my  darlings  !  God  bless  and  keep  us  all !  ” 
whispered  Mrs.  March,  as  she  kissed  one  dear  little  face 
after  the  other,  and  hurried  into  the  carriage. 

As  she  rolled  away,  the  sun  came  out,  and,  looking 
back,  she  saw  it  shining  on  the  group  at  the  gate,  like  a 
good  omen.  They  saw  it  also,  and  smiled  and  waved 
their  hands  ;  and  the  last  thing  she  beheld,  as  she  turned 
the  corner,  was  the  four  bright  faces,  and  behind  them, 
like  a  body-guard,  old  Mr.  Laurence,  faithful  Hannah, 
and  devoted  Laurie. 

“  How  kind  every  one  is  to  us !  ”  she  said,  turning 
to  find  fresh  proof  of  it  in  the  respectful  sympathy  of 
the  young  man’s  face. 

“  I  don’t  see  how  they  can  help  it,”  returned  Mr. 
Brooke,  lau  ghi  ng  so  infectiously  that  Mrs.  March  could 
not  help  smiling ;  and  so  the  long  journey  began  with 
the  good  omens  of  sunshine,  smiles,  and  cheerful  words. 

“  I  feel  as  if  there  had  been  an  earthquake,”  said  Jo, 
as  their  neighbors  went  home  to  breakfast,  leaving 
them  to  rest  and  refresh  themselves. 

“  It  seems  as  if  half  the  house  was  gone,”  added  Meg 
forlornly. 

Beth  opened  her  lips  to  say  something,  but  could  only 
point  to  the  pile  of  nicely-mended  hose  which  lay  on 
mother’s  table,  showing  that  even  in  her  last  hurried 
moments  she  had  thought  and  worked  for  them.  L 
was  a  little  thing,  but  it  went  straight  to  their  hearts  * 
and,  in  spite  of  their  brave  resolutions,  they  all  broke 
down,  and  cried  bitterly. 

Hannah  wisely  allowed  them  to  relieve  their  feelings, 
and,  when  the  shower  showed  signs  of  clearing  up,  she 
came  to  the  rescue,  armed  with  a  coffee-pot. 


Letters 


2  IT 


“Now,  my  dear  young  ladies,  remember  what  your 
ma  said,  and  don’t  fret.  Come  and  have  a  cup  of  coffee 
all  round,  and  then  let ’s  fall  to  work,  and  be  a  credit  to 
the  family.” 

Coffee  was  a  treat,  and  Hannah  showed  great  tact  in 
making  it  that  morning.  No  one  could  resist  her  per¬ 
suasive  nods,  or  the  fragrant  invitation  issuing  from  the 
nose  of  the  coffee-pot.  They  drew  up  to  the  table,  ex¬ 
changed  their  handkerchiefs  for  napkins,  and  in  ten 
minutes  were  all  right  again. 

“  ‘  Hope  and  keep  busy;  ’  that ’s  the  motto  for  us,  so 
let ’s  see  who  will  remember  it  best.  I  shall  go  to  Aunt 
March,  as  usual.  Oh,  won’t  she  lecture  though  !  ”  said 
Jo,  as  she  sipped  with  returning  spirit. 

“  I  shall  go  to  my  Kings,  though  I ’d  much  rather  stay 
at  home  and  attend  to  things  here,”  said  Meg,  wishing 
she  had  n’t  made  her  eyes  so  red. 

“  No  need  of  that;  Beth  and  I  can  keep  house  per¬ 
fectly  well,”  put  in  Amy,  with  an  important  air. 

“  Hannah  will  tell  us  what  to  do ;  and  we  ’ll  have 
everything  nice  when  you  come  home,”  added  Beth, 
getting  out  her  mop  and  dish-tub  without  delay. 

“  I  think  anxiety  is  very  interesting,”  observed  Amy, 
eating  sugar,  pensively. 

The  girls  could  n’t  help  laughing,  and  felt  better  for 
it,  though  Meg  shook  her  head  at  the  young  lady  who 
could  find  consolation  in  a  sugar-bowl. 

The  sight  of  the  turnovers  made  Jo  sober  again;  and 
when  the  two  went  out  to  their  daily  tasks,  they  looked 
sorrowfully  back  at  the  window  where  they  were  accus¬ 
tomed  to  see  their  mother’s  face.  It  was  gone ;  but 
Beth  had  remembered  the  little  household  ceremony, 
and  there  she  was,  nodding  away  at  them  like  a  rosy- 
faced  mandarin. 


2  12 


Little  Women 


“  That ’s  so  like  my  Beth  !  ”  said  Jo,  waving  her  hat, 
with  a  grateful  face.  “  Good-by,  Meggy ;  I  hope  the 
Kings  won’t  train  to-day.  Don’t  fret  about  father, 
dear,”  she  added,  as  they  parted. 

“And  I  hope  Aunt  March  won’t  croak.  Your  hair  is 
becoming,  and  it  looks  very  boyish  and  nice,”  returned 
Meg,  trying  not  to  smile  at  the  curly  head,  which  looked 
comically  small  on  her  tall  sister’s  shoulders. 

“That’s  my  only  comfort;  ”  and,  touching  her  hat  a 
la  Laurie,  away  went  Jo,  feeling  like  a  shorn  sheep  on  a 
wintry  day. 

News  from  their  father  comforted  the  girls  very  much  ; 
for,  though  dangerously  ill,  the  presence  of  the  best  and 
tenderest  of  nurses  had  already  done  him  good.  Mr. 
Brooke  sent  a  bulletin  every  day,  and,  as  the  head  of  the 
family,  Meg  insisted  on  reading  the  despatches,  which 
grew  more  and  more  cheering  as  the  week  passed.  At 
first,  every  one  was  eager  to  write,  and  plump  envelopes 
were  carefully  poked  into  the  letter-box  by  one  or  other 
of  the  sisters,  who  felt  rather  important  with  their  Wash¬ 
ington  correspondence.  As  one  of  these  packets  con¬ 
tained  characteristic  notes  from  the  party,  we  will  rob  an 
imaginary  mail,  and  read  them :  — 

“  My  Dearest  Mother,  — 

“  It  is  impossible  to  tell  you  how  happy  your  last  letter  made 
us,  for  the  news  was  so  good  we  could  n’t  help  laughing  and 
crying  over  it.  How  very  kind  Mr.  Brooke  is,  and  how  for¬ 
tunate  that  Mr.  Laurence’s  business  detains  him  near  you  so 
long,  since  he  is  so  useful  to  you  and  father.  The  girls  are  all 
as  good  as  gold.  Jo  helps  me  with  the  sewing,  and  insists  on 
doing  all  sorts  of  hard  jobs.  I  should  be  afraid  she  might 
overdo,  if  I  did  n’t  know  that  her  ‘  moral  fit  ’  would  n’t  last 
long.  Beth  is  as  regular  about  her  tasks  as  a  clock,  and  never 
forgets  what  you  told  her.  She  grieves  about  father,  and  looks 


Letters 


213 

sober  except  when  she  is  at  her  little  piano.  Amy  minds  me 
nicely,  and  I  take  great  care  of  her.  She  does  her  own  hair, 
and  I  am  teaching  her  to  make  button-holes  and  mend  her 
stockings.  She  tries  very  hard,  and  I  know  you  will  be  pleased 
with  her  improvement  when  you  come. '  Mr.  Laurence  watches 
over  us  like  a  motherly  old  hen,  as  Jo  says  ;  and  Laurie  is  very 
kind  and  neighborly.  He  and  Jo  keep  us  merry,  for  we  get 
pretty  blue  sometimes,  and  feel  like  orphans,  with  you  so  far 
away.  Hannah  is  a  perfect  saint ;  she  does  not  scold  at  all, 
and  always  calls  me  Miss  ‘  Margaret,’  which  is  quite  proper, 
you  know,  and  treats  me  with  respect.  We  are  all  well  and 
busy ;  but  we  long,  day  and  night,  to  have  you  back.  Give 
my  dearest  love  to  father,  and  believe  me,  ever  your  own 

“  Meg.” 

This  note,  prettily  written  on  scented  paper,  was  a 
great  contrast  to  the  next,  which  was  scribbled  on  a  big 
sheet  of  thin  foreign  paper,  ornamented  with  blots  and 
all  manner  of  flourishes  and  curly-tailed  letters :  — 

“My  Precious  Marmee, — 

“  Three  cheers  for  dear  father  !  Brooke  was  a  trump  to 
telegraph  right  off,  and  let  us  know  the  minute  he  was  better. 
I  rushed  up  garret  when  the  letter  came,  and  tried  to  thank 
God  for  being  so  good  to  us ;  but  I  could  only  cry,  and  say, 
‘  I ’m  glad  !  I ’m  glad  !  ’  Did  n’t  that  do  as  well  as  a  regular 
prayer?  for  I  felt  a  great  many  in  my  heart.  We  have  such 
funny  times ;  and  now  I  can  enjoy  them,  for  every  one  is  so 
desperately  good,  it ’s  like  living  in  a  nest  of  turtle-doves. 
You ’d  laugh  to  see  Meg  head  the  table  and  try  to  be  mother- 
ish.  She  gets  prettier  every  day,  and  I  ’m  in  love  with  her 
sometimes.  The  children  are  regular  archangels,  and  I  —  well, 
I ’m  Jo,  and  never  shall  be  anything  else.  Oh,  I  must  tell  you 
that  I  came  near  having  a  quarrel  with  Laurie.  I  freed  my 
mind  about  a  silly  little  thing,  and  he  was  offended.  I  was 


Little  Women 


214 

right,  but  did  n’t  speak  as  I  ought,  and  he  marched  home,  say¬ 
ing  he  would  n’t  come  again  till  I  begged  pardon.  I  declared 
I  would  n’t,  and  got  mad.  It  lasted  all  day  ;  I  felt  bad,  and 
wanted  you  very  much.  Laurie  and  I  are  both  so  proud,  it ’s 
hard  to  beg  pardon ;  but  I  thought  he ’d  come  to  it,  for  I  was 
in  the  right.  He  did  n’t  come ;  and  just  at  night  I  remem¬ 
bered  what  you  said  when  Amy  fell  into  the  river.  I  read  my 
little  book,  felt  better,  resolved  not  to  let  the  sun  set  on  my 
anger,  and  ran  over  to  tell  Laurie  I  was  sorry.  I  met  him  at 
the  gate,  coming  for  the  same  thing.  We  both  laughed,  begged 
each  other’s  pardon,  and  felt  all  good  and  comfortable  again. 

“  I  made  a  ‘  pome  ’  yesterday,  when  I  Was  helping  Hannah 
wash ;  and,  as  father  likes  my  silly  little  things,  I  put  it  in  to 
amuse  him.  Give  him  the  lovingest  hug  that  ever  was,  and 
kiss  yourself  a  dozen  times  for  your 

“  Topsy-Turvy  Jo.” 

“  A  SONG  FROM  THE  SUDS. 

“  Queen  of  my  tub,  I  merrily  sing, 

While  the  white  foam  rises  high; 

And  sturdily  wash  and  rinse  and  wring, 

And  fasten  the  clothes  to  dry  ; 

Then  out  in  the  free  fresh  air  they  swing, 

Under  the  sunny  sky. 

“  I  wish  we  could  wash  from  our  hearts  and  souls 
The  stains  of  the  week  away, 

And  let  water  and  air  by  their  magic  make 
Ourselves  as  pure  as  they; 

Then  on  the  earth  there  would  be  indeed 
A  glorious  washing-day  ! 

“  Along  the  path  of  a  useful  life, 

Will  heart’s-ease  ever  bloom  ; 

The  busy  mind  has  no  time  to  think 
Of  sorrow  or  care  or  gloom  ; 

And  anxious  thoughts  may  be  swept  away, 

As  we  bravely  wield  a  broom. 


Letters 


2 1 5 


u  I  am  glad  a  task  to  me  is  given, 

To  labor  at  day  by  day  ; 

For  it  brings  me  health  and  strength  and  hope. 

And  I  cheerfully  learn  to  say,  — 

*  Head,  you  may  think,  Heart,  you  may  feel, 

But,  Hand,  you  shall  work  alway  !  ’  ” 

"  Dear  Mother,  — 

“  There  is  only  room  for  me  to  send  my  love,  and  some 
pressed  pansies  from  the  root  I  have  been  keeping  safe  in 
the  house  for  father  to  see.  I  read  every  morning,  try  to  be 
good  all  day,  and  sing  myself  to  sleep  with  father’s  tune.  I 
can’t  sing  4  Land  of  the  Leal  ’  now ;  it  makes  me  cry.  Every 
one  is  very  kind,  and  we  are  as  happy  as  we  can  be  without 
you.  Amy  wants  the  rest  of  the  page,  so  I  must  stop.  I 
did  n’t  forget  to  cover  the  holders,  and  I  wind  the  clock  and 
air  the  rooms  every  day. 

“  Kiss  dear  father  on  the  cheek  he  calls  mine.  Oh,  do 
come  soon  to  your  loving 

“  Little  Beth.” 

“  Ma  Ch£re  Mamma,  — 

“  We  are  all  well  I  do  my  lessons  always  and  never  cor- 
roberate  the  girls  —  Meg  says  I  mean  contradick  so  I  put  in 
both  words  and  you  can  take  the  properest.  Meg  is  a  great 
comfort  to  me  and  lets  me  have  jelly  every  night  at  tea  its 
so  good  for  me  Jo  says  because  it  keeps  me  sweet  tempered. 
Laurie  is  not  as  respeckful  as  he  ought  to  be  now  I  am  almost  in 
my  teens,  he  calls  me  Chick  and  hurts  my  feelings  by  talking 
French  to  me  very  fast  when  I  say  Merci  or  Bon  jour  as 
Hattie  King  does.  The  sleeves  of  my  blue  dress  were  all 
worn  out,  and  Meg  put  in  new  ones,  but  the  full  front  came 
wrong  and  they  are  more  blue  than  the  dress.  I  felt  bad  but 
did  not  fret  I  bear  my  troubles  well  but  I  do  wish  Hannah 
would  put  more  starch  in  my  aprons  and  have  buckwheats 
every  day.  Can’t  she?  Did  n’t  I  make  that  interrigation  point 


Little  Women 


216 

nice?  Meg  says  my  punchtuation  and  spelling  are  disgrace* 
ful  and  I  am  mortyfied  but  dear  me  I  have  so  many  things  to 
do,  I  can’t  stop.  Adieu,  I  send  heaps  of  love  to  Papa. 

“  Your  affectionate  daughter, 

“  Amy  Curtis  March.’* 


“  Dear  Mis  March,  — 

e‘  I  jes  drop  a  line  to  say  we  git  on  fust  rate.  The  girls 
is  clever  and  fly  round  right  smart.  Miss  Meg  is  going  to 
make  a  proper  good  housekeeper ;  she  lies  the  liking  for  it, 
and  gits  the  hang  of  things  surprisin  quick.  Jo  doos  beat  all 
for  goin  ahead,  but  she  don’t  stop  to  cal’k’late  fust,  and  you 
never  know  where  she ’s  like  to  bring  up.  She  done  out  a 
tub  of  clothes  on  Monday,  but  she  starched  em  afore  they  was 
wrenched,  and  blued  a  pink  calico  dress  till  I  thought  I  should 
a  died  a  laughin.  Beth  is  the  best  of  little  creeters,  and  a 
sight  of  help  to  me,  bein  so  forehanded  and  dependable.  She 
tries  to  learn  everything,  and  really  goes  to  market  beyond  her 
years  ;  likewise  keeps  accounts,  with  my  help,  quite  wonderful. 
We  have  got  on  very  economical  so  fur;  I  don’t  let  the  girls 
hev  coffee  only  once  a  week,  accordin  to  your  wish,  and  keep 
em  on  plain  wholesome  vittles.  Amy  does  well  about  frettin. 
wearin  her  best  clothes  and  eatin  sweet  stuff.  Mr.  Laurie  is  as 
full  of  didoes  as  usual,  and  turns  the  house  upside  down  fre¬ 
quent  ;  but  he  heartens  up  the  girls,  and  so  I  let  em  hev  full 
swing.  The  old  gentleman  sends  heaps  of  things,  and  is  rather 
wearin,  but  means  wal,  and  it  aint  my  place  to  say  nothin.  My 
bread  is  riz,  so  no  more  at  this  time.  I  send  my  duty  to  Mr. 
March,  and  hope  he ’s  seen  the  last  of  his  Pewmonia. 

“  Yours  Respectful, 

“  Hannah  Mullet.” 


“  Head  Nurse  of  Ward  No.  2,  — 

“All  serene  on  the  Rappahannock,  troops  in  fine  condition, 
commissary  department  well  conducted,  the  Home  Guard 
under  Colonel  Teddy  always  on  duty,  Commander-in-chief 


Little  Faithful 


2 


General  Laurence  reviews  the  army  daily,  Quarter-master  Mul¬ 
let  keeps  order  in  camp,  and  Major  Lion  does  picket  duty  at 
night.  A  salute  of  twenty-four  guns  was  fired  on  receipt  of 
good  news  from  Washington,  and  a  dress  parade  took  place  at 
head-quarters.  Commander-in-chief  sends  best  wishes,  in 
which  he  is  heartily  joined  by 

“  Colonel  Teddy.” 


“  Dear  Madam,  — 

“  The  little  girls  are  all  well  ;  Beth  and  my  boy  report 
daily ;  Hannah  is  a  model  servant,  and  guards  pretty  Meg 
like  a  dragon.  Glad  the  fine  weather  holds ;  pray  make 
Brooke  useful,  and  draw  on  me  for  funds  if  expenses  ex- 
peed  your  estimate.  Don’t  let  your  husband  want  anything. 
Thank  God  he  is  mending. 

“  Your  sincere  friend  and  servant, 

“  James  Laurence.” 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LITTLE  FAITHFUL 

FOR  a  week  the  amount  of  virtue  in  the  old  house 
would  have  supplied  the  neighborhood.  It  was 
really  amazing,  for  every  one  seemed  in  a 
heavenly  frame  of  mind,  and  self-denial  was  all  the 
fashion.  Relieved  of  their  first  anxiety  about  their 
father,  the  girls  insensibly  relaxed  their  praiseworthy 
efforts  a  little,  and  began  to  fall  back  into  the  old 
ways.  They  did  not  forget  their  motto,  but  hoping 
and  keeping  busy  seemed  to  grow  easier;  and  after 
such  tremendous  exertions,  they  felt  that  Endeavor 
deserved  a  holiday,  and  gave  it  a  good  many. 

Jo  caught  a  bad  cold  through  neglect  to  cover  the 
shorn  head  enough,  and  was  ordered  to  stay  at  home 


Little  Women 


2  I  8 

till  she  was  better,  for  Aunt  March  did  n’t  like  to  hear 
people  read  with  colds  in  their  heads.  Jo  liked  this, 
and  after  an  energetic  rummage  from  garret  to  cellar, 
subsided  on  the  sofa  to  nurse  her  cold  with  arsenicum 
and  books.  Amy  found  that  housework  and  art  did 
not  go  well  together,  and  returned  to  her  mud  pies. 
Meg  went  daily  to  her  pupils,  and  sewed,  or  thought 
she  did,  at  home,  but  much  time  was  spent  in  writing 
long  letters  to  her  mother,  or  reading  the  Washington 
despatches  over  and  over.  Beth  kept  on,  with  only 
slight  relapses  into  idleness  or  grieving. 

All  the  little  duties  were  faithfully  done  each  day,  and 
many  of  her  sisters’  also,  for  they  were  forgetful,  and  the 
house  seemed  like  a  clock  whose  pendulum  was  gone 
a-visiting.  When  her  heart  got  heavy  with  longings  for 
mother  or  fears  for  father,  she  went  away  into  a  certain 
closet,  hid  her  face  in  the  folds  of  a  certain  dear  old  gown, 
and  made  her  little  moan  and  prayed  her  little  prayer 
quietly  by  herself.  Nobody  knew  what  cheered  her  up 
after  a  sober  fit,  but  every  one  felt  how  sweet  and  help¬ 
ful  Beth  was,  and  fell  into  a  way  of  going  to  her  for  com¬ 
fort  or  advice  in  their  small  affairs. 

All  were  unconscious  that  this  experience  was  a  test  of 
character;  and,  when  the  first  excitement  was  over,  felt 
that  they  had  done  well,  and  deserved  praise.  So  they 
did  ;  but  their  mistake  was  in  ceasing  to  do  well,  and  they 
learned  this  lesson  through  much  anxiety  and  regret. 

“  Meg,  I  wish  you’d  go  and  see  the  Hummels;  you 
know  mother  told  us  not  to  forget  them,”  said  Beth,  ten 
days  after  Mrs.  March’s  departure. 

**  I  ’m  too  tired  to  go  this  afternoon,”  replied  Meg, 
rocking  comfortably  as  she  sewed. 

“  Can’t  you,  Jo?”  asked  Beth. 

“  Too  stormy  for  me  with  my  cold.” 


Little  Faithful 


219 

“  I  thought  it  was  almost  well.” 

“It’s  well  enough  for  me  to  go  out  with  Laurie,  but 
not  well  enough  to  go  to  the  Hummels’,”  said  Jo,  laugh¬ 
ing,  but  looking  a  little  ashamed  of  her  inconsistency. 

“  Why  don’t  you  go  yourself  ?  ”  asked  Meg. 

“  I  have  been  every  day,  but  the  baby  is  sick,  and  I 
don’t  know  what  to  do  for  it.  Mrs.  Hummel  goes  away 
to  work,  and  Lottchen  takes  care  of  it ;  but  it  gets  sicker 
and  sicker,  and  I  think  you  or  Hannah  ought  to  go.” 

Beth  spoke  earnestly,  and  Meg  promised  she  would  go 
to-morrow. 

“  Ask  Hannah  for  some  nice  little  mess,  and  take  it 
round,  Beth;  the  air  will  do  you  good,”  said  Jo,  adding 
apologetically,  “  I ’d  go,  but  I  want  to  finish  my  writing.” 

“  My  head  aches  and  I ’m  tired,  so  I  thought  may  be 
some  of  you  would  go,”  said  Beth. 

“  Amy  will  be  in  presently,  and  she  will  run  down  for 
us,”  suggested  Meg. 

“  Well,  I  ’ll  rest  a  little  and  wait  for  her.” 

So  Beth  lay  down  on  the  sofa,  the  others  returned  to 
their  work,  and  the  Hummels  were  forgotten.  An  hour 
passed:  Amy  did  not  come;  Meg  went  to  her  room  to 
try  on  a  new  dress;  Jo  was  absorbed  in  her  story,  and 
Hannah  was  sound  asleep  before  the  kitchen  fire,  when 
Beth  quietly  put  on  her  hood,  filled  her  basket  with  odds 
and  ends  for  the  poor  children,  and  went  out  into  the 
chilly  air,  with  a  heavy  head,  and  a  grieved  look  in  her 
patient  eyes.  It  was  late  when  she  came  back,  and  no  one 
saw  her  creep  upstairs  and  shut  herself  into  her  mother’s 
room.  Half  an  hour  after  Jo  went  to  “  mother’s  closet  ” 
for  something,  and  there  found  Beth  sitting  on  the  med¬ 
icine  chest,  looking  very  grave,  with  red  eyes,  and  a  cam¬ 
phor-bottle  in  her  hand. 

“  Christopher  Columbus  !  What ’s  the  matter?  ”  cried 


220  Little  Women 

Jo,  as  Beth  put  out  her  hand  as  if  to  warn  her  off,  and 
asked  quickly,  — 

“You  ’ve  had  the  scarlet  fever,  have  n’t  you?  ” 

“  Years  ago,  when  Meg  did.  Why?  ” 

“  Then  I  ’ll  tell  you.  Oh,  Jo,  the  baby ’s  dead  !  ” 

“  What  baby?  ” 

“Mrs.  Hummel’s;  it  died  in  my  lap  before  she  got 
home,”  cried  Beth,  with  a  sob. 

“  My  poor  dear,  how  dreadful  for  you  !  I  ought  to 
have  gone,”  said  Jo,  taking  her  sister  in  her  arms  as  she 
sat  down  in  her  mother’s  big  chair,  with  a  remorseful 
face. 

“  It  was  n’t  dreadful,  Jo,  only  so  sad  !  I  saw  in  a  min¬ 
ute  that  it  was  sicker,  but  Lottchen  said  her  mother  had 
gone  for  a  doctor,  so  I  took  baby  and  let  Lotty  rest.  It 
seemed  asleep,  but  all  of  a  sudden  it  gave  a  little  cry,  and 
trembled,  and  then  lay  very  still.  I  tried  to  warm  its  feet, 
and  Lotty  gave  it  some  milk,  but  it  did  n’t  stir,  and  I 
knew  it  was  dead.” 

“  Don’t  cry,  dear!  What  did  you  do?” 

“  I  just  sat  and  held  it  softly  till  Mrs.  Hummel  came 
with  the  doctor.  He  said  it  was  dead,  and  looked  at 
Heinrich  and  Minna,  who  have  got  sore  throats.  ‘  Scar¬ 
let  fever,  ma’am.  Ought  to  have  called  me  before,’  he 
said  crossly.  Mrs.  Hummel  told  him  she  was  poor,  and 
had  tried  to  cure  baby  herself,  but  now  it  was  too  late, 
and  she  could  only  ask  him  to  help  the  others,  and  trust 
to  charity  for  his  pay.  He  smiled  then,  and  was  kinder; 
but  it  was  very  sad,  and  I  cried  with  them  till  he  turned 
round,  all  of  a  sudden,  and  told  me  to  go  home  and  take 
belladonna  right  away,  or  I ’d  have  the  fever.” 

“  No,  you  won’t !  ”  cried  Jo,  hugging  her  close,  with  a 
frightened  look.  “  O  Beth,  if  you  should  be  sick  I  never 
could  forgive  myself !  What  shall  we  do  ?  ” 


Little  Faithful 


221 


“  Don’t  be  frightened,  I  guess  I  shan’t  have  it  badly. 
I  looked  in  mother’s  book,  and  saw  that  it  begins  with 
headache,  sore  throat,  and  queer  feelings  like  mine,  so  I 
did  take  some  belladonna,  and  I  feel  better,”  said  Beth, 
laying  her  cold  hands  on  her  hot  forehead,  and  trying  to 
look  well.  • 

“  If  mother  was  only  at  home !  ”  exclaimed  Jo,  seizing  the 
book,  and  feeling  that  Washington  was  an  immense  way 
off.  She  read  a  page,  looked  at  Beth,  felt  her  head,  peeped 
into  her  throat,  and  then  said  gravely,  “  You  ’ve  been  over 
the  baby  every  day  for  more  than  a  week,  and  among 
the  others  who  are  going  to  have  it ;  so  I ’m  afraid  you 
are  going  to  have  it,  Beth.  I  ’ll  call  Hannah,  she  knows 
all  about  sickness.” 

“  Don’t  let  Amy  come  ;  she  never  had  it,  and  I  should 
hate  to  give  it  to  her.  Can’t  you  and  Meg  have  it  over 
again?”  asked  Beth,  anxiously. 

“  I  guess  not;  don’t  care  if  I  do ;  serve  me  right,  sel¬ 
fish  pig,  to  let  you  go,  and  stay  writing  rubbish  myself!  ” 
muttered  Jo,  as  she  went  to  consult  Hannah. 

The  good  soul  was  wide  awake  in  a  minute,  and 
took  the  lead  at  once,  assuring  Jo  that  there  was  no 
need  to  worry;  every  one  had  scarlet  fever,  and,  if 
rightly  treated,  nobody  died,  —  all  of  which  Jo  believed, 
and  felt  much  relieved  as  they  went  up  to  call  Meg. 

“  Now  I  ’ll  tell  you  what  we  ’ll  do,”  said  Hannah,  when 
she  had  examined  and  questioned  Beth ;  “  we  will  have 
Dr.  Bangs,  just  to  take  a  look  at  you,  dear,  and  see  that  we 
start  right;  then  we’ll  send  Amy  off  to  Aunt  March’s, 
for  a  spell,  to  keep  her  out  of  harm’s  way,  and  one  of 
you  girls  can  stay  at  home  and  amuse  Beth  for  a  day  or 
two.” 

“I  shall  stay,  of  course;  I’m  oldest,”  began  Meg, 
looking  anxious  and  self-reproachful. 


2  2  2 


Little  Women 


“I  shall,  because  it’s  my  fault  she  is  sick;  I  told 
mother  I’d  do  the  errands,  and  I  haven’t,”  said  Jo 
decidedly. 

“Which  will  you  have,  Beth?  there  ain’t  no  need  of 
but  one,”  said  Hannah. 

“Jo,  please;  ”  and  Beth  leaned  her  head  against  her 
sister,  with  a  contented  look,  which  effectually  settled 
that  point. 

“  I  ’ll  go  and  tell  Amy,”  said  Meg,  feeling  a  little  hurt, 
yet  rather  relieved,  on  the  whole,  for  she  did  not  like 
nursing,  and  Jo  did. 

Amy  rebelled  outright,  and  passionately  declared  that 
she  had  rather  have  the  fever  than  go  to  Aunt  March. 
Meg  reasoned,  pleaded,  and  commanded :  all  in  vain. 
Amy  protested  that  she  would  not  go  ;  and  Meg  left  her 
in  despair,  to  ask  Hannah  what  should  be  done.  Before 
she  came  back,  Laurie  walked  into  the  parlor  to  find  Amy 
sobbing,  with  her  head  in  the  sofa-cushions.  She  told 
her  story,  expecting  to  be  consoled ;  but  Laurie  only 
put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  walked  about  the  room, 
whistling  softly,  as  he  knit  his  brows  in  deep  thought. 
Presently  he  sat  down  beside  her,  and  said,  in  his  most 
wheedlesome  tone,  “Now  be  a  sensible  little  woman,  and 
do  as  they  say.  No,  don’t  cry,  but  hear  what  a  jolly 
plan  I ’ve  got.  You  go  to  Aunt  March’s,  and  I  ’ll  come 
and  take  you  out  every  day,  driving  or  walking,  and 
we  ’ll  have  capital  times.  Won’t  that  be  better  than 
moping  here?” 

“  I  don’t  wish  to  be  sent  off  as  if  I  was  in  the  way,” 
began  Amy,  in  an  injured  voice. 

“Bless  your  heart,  child,  it’s  to  keep  you  well.  You 
don’t  want  to  be  sick,  do  you?” 

“  No,  I ’m  sure  I  don’t;  but  I  dare  say  I  shall  be,  for 
I ’ve  been  with  Beth  all  the  time.” 


Little  Faithful 


223 

“  That ’s  the  very  reason  you  ought  to  go  away  at 
once,  so  that  you  may  escape  it.  Change  of  air  and 
care  will  keep  you  well,  I  dare  say;  or,  if  it  does  not 
entirely,  you  will  have  the  fever  more  lightly.  I  advise 
you  to  be  off  as  soon  as  you  can,  for  scarlet  fever  is  no 
joke,  miss.” 

“  But  it ’s  dull  at  Aunt  March’s,  and  she  is  so  cross,” 
said  Amy,  looking  rather  frightened. 

“  It  won’t  be  dull  with  me  popping  in  everyday  to  tell 
you  how  Beth  is,  and  take  you  out  gallivanting.  The 
old  lady  likes  me,  and  I  ’ll  be  as  sweet  as  possible  to 
her,  so  she  won’t  peck  at  us,  whatever  we  do.” 

“  Will  you  take  me  out  in  the  trotting  wagon  with 
Puck?” 

“  On  my  honor  as  a  gentleman.” 

“  And  come  every  single  day?” 

“  See  if  I  don’t.” 

“  And  bring  me  back  the  minute  Beth  is  well?” 

“  The  identical  minute.” 

“  And  go  to  the  theatre,  truly?  ” 

“  A  dozen  theatres,  if  we  may.” 

“  Well  —  I  guess  —  I  will,”  said  Amy  slowly. 

“  Good  girl !  Call  Meg,  and  tell  her  you  ’ll  give  in,” 
said  Laurie,  with  an  approving  pat,  which  annoyed  Amy 
more  than  the  “  giving  in.” 

Meg  and  Jo  came  running  down  to  behold  the  miracle 
which  had  been  wrought;  and  Amy,  feeling  very  pre¬ 
cious  and  self-sacrificing,  promised  to  go,  if  the  doctor 
said  Beth  was  going  to  be  ill. 

“  How  is  the  little  dear?  ”  asked  Laurie  ;  for  Beth  was 
his  especial  pet,  and  he  felt  more  anxious  about  her 
than  he  liked  to  show. 

“  She  is  lying  down  on  mother’s  bed,  and  feels  better. 
The  baby’s  death  troubled  her,  but  I  dare  say  she  has 


1 


Little  Women 


224. 

only  got  cold.  Hannah  says  she  thinks  so  ;  but  she  look _ 
worried,  and  that  makes  me  fidgety,”  answered  Meg. 

“  What  a  trying  world  it  is  !  ”  said  Jo,  rumpling  up  her 
hair  in  a  fretful  sort  of  way.  “  No  sooner  do  we  get 
out  of  one  trouble  than  down  comes  another.  There 
does  n’t  seem  to  be  anything  to  hold  on  to  when  mother  ’s 
gone;  so  I  ’m  all  at  sea.” 

“Well,  don’t  make  a  porcupine  of  yourself,  it  isn’t 
becoming.  Settle  your  wig,  Jo,  and  tell  me  if  I  shall 
telegraph  to  your  mother,  or  do  anything?  ”  asked 
Laurie,  who  never  had  been  reconciled  to  the  loss  of  his 
friend’s  one  beauty. 

“  That  is  what  troubles  me,”  said  Meg.  “  I  think  we 
ought  to  tell  her  if  Beth  is  really  ill,  but  Hannah  says 
we  must  n’t,  for  mother  can’t  leave  father,  and  it  will 
only  make  them  anxious.  Beth  won’t  be  sick  long,  and 
Hannah  knows  just  what  to  do,  and  mother  said  we 
were  to  mind  her,  so  I  suppose  we  must,  but  it  does  n’t 
seem  quite  riglqt  to  me.” 

“Hum,  well,  I  can’t  say;  suppose  you  ask  grand¬ 
father  after  the  doctor  has  been.” 

“  We  will.  Jo,  go  and  get  Dr.  Bangs  at  once,”  com¬ 
manded  Meg;  “we  can’t  decide  anything  till  he  has 
been.” 

“  Stay  where  you  are,  Jo ;  I  ’m  errand-boy  to  this 
establishment,”  said  Laurie,  taking  up  his  cap. 

“  I ’m  afraid  you  are  busy,”  began  Meg. 

“  No,  I ’ve  done  my  lessons  for  the  day.” 

“  Do  you  study  in  vacation  time?  ”  asked  Jo. 

“  I  follow  the  good  example  my  neighbors  set  me,” 
was  Laurie’s  answer,  as  he  swung  himself  out  of  the 
room. 

“  I  have  great  hopes  of  my  boy,”  observed  Jo,  watch¬ 
ing  him  fly  over  the  fence  with  an  approving  smile. 


Little  Faithful 


225 

“  He  does  very  well  —  for  a  boy,”  was  Meg’s  some¬ 
what  ungracious  answer,  for  the  subject  did  not  interest 

her. 

Dr.  Bangs  came,  said  Beth  had  symptoms  of  the  fever, 
but  thought  she  would  have  it  lightly,  though  he  looked 
sober  over  the  Hummel  story.  Amy  was  ordered  off  at 
once,  and  provided  with  something  to  ward  off  danger, 
she  departed  in  great  state,  with  Jo  and  Laurie  as  escort. 

Aunt  March  received  them  with  her  usual  hospitality. 

“What  do  you  want  now?”  she  asked,  looking 
sharply  over  her  spectacles,  while  the  parrot,  sitting  on 
the  back  of  her  chair,  called  out, — 

“  Go  away.  No  boys  allowed  here.” 

Laurie  retired  to  the  window,  and  Jo  told  her  story. 

„  “  No  more  than  I  expected,  if  you  are  allowed  to  go 
poking  about  among  poor  folks.  Amy  can  stay  and 
make  herself  useful  if  she  is  n’t  sick,  which  I ’ve  no 
doubt  she  will  be,  —  looks  like  it  now.  Don’t  cry, 
child,  it  worries  me  to  hear  people  sniff.” 

Amy  was  on  the  point  of  crying,  but  Laurie  slyly 
pulled  the  parrot’s  tail,  which  caused  Polly  to  utter  an 
astonished  croak,  and  call  out,  — 

“  Bless  my  boots  !  ”  in  such  a  funny  way,  that  she 
laughed  instead. 

“What  do  you  hear  from  your  mother?”  asked  the 
old  lady  gruffly. 

“  Father  is  much  better,”  replied  Jo,  trying  to  keep 
sober. 

“  Oh,  is  he?  Well,  that  won’t  last  long,  I  fancy; 
March  never  had  any  stamina,”  was  the  cheerful  reply. 

“Ha,  ha!  never  say  die,  take  a  pinch  of  snuff,  good 
by,  good  by !  ”  squalled  Polly,  dancing  on  her  perch, 
and  clawing  at  the  old  lady’s  cap  as  Laurie  tweaked  him 
in  the  rear. 


IS 


Little  Women 


226 

“  Hold  your  tongue,  you  disrespectful  old  bird  !  and, 
Jo,  you ’d  better  go  at  once;  it  is  n’t  proper  to  be  gad¬ 
ding  about  so  late  with  a  rattle-pated  boy  like  —  ” 

“  Hold  your  tongue,  you  disrespectful  old  bird !  ” 
cried  Polly,  tumbling  off  the  chair  with  a  bounce,  and 
running  to  peck  the  “  rattle-pated  ”  boy,  who  was  shak¬ 
ing  with  laughter  at  the  last  speech. 

“  I  don’t  think  I  can  bear  it,  but  I  ’ll  try,”  thought 
Amy,  as  she  was  left  alone  with  Aunt  March. 

“Get  along,  you  fright!”  screamed  Polly;  and  at 
that  rude  speech  Amy  could  not  restrain  a  sniff. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DARK  DAYS 

BETH  did  have  the  fever,  and  was  much  sicker 
than  any  one  but  Hannah  and  the  doctor 
suspected.  The  girls  knew  nothing  about  ill¬ 
ness,  and  Mr.  Laurence  was  not  allowed  to  see  her,  so 
Hannah  had  everything  all  her  own  way,  and  busy  Dr. 
Bangs  did  his  best,  but  left  a  good  deal  to  the  excellent 
nurse.  Meg  stayed  at  home,  lest  she  should  infect  the 
Kings,  and  kept  house,  feeling  very  anxious  and  a  little 
guilty  when  she  wrote  letters  in  which  no  mention  was 
made  of  Beth’s  illness.  She  could  not  think  it  right  to 
deceive  her  mother,  but  she  had  been  bidden  to  mind 
Hannah,  and  Hannah  would  n’t  hear  of  “  Mrs.  March 
bein’  told,  and  worried  just  for  sech  a  trifle.”  Jo  devoted 
herself  to  Beth  day  and  night;  not  a  hard  task,  for  Beth 
was  very  patient,  and  bore  her  pain  uncomplainingly  as 
long  as  she  could  control  herself.  But  there  came  a  time 
when  during  the  fever  fits  she  began  to  talk  in  a  hoarse, 


227 


Dark  Days 

broken  voice,  to  play  on  the  coverlet,  as  if  on  her  beloved 
little  piano,  and  try  to  sing  with  a  throat  so  swollen  that 
there  was  no  music  left ;  a  time  when  she  did  not  know 
the  familiar  faces  round  her,  but  addressed  them  by  wrong 
names,  and  called  imploringly  for  her  mother.  Then 
Jo  grew  frightened,  Meg  begged  to  be  allowed  to  write 
the  truth,  and  even  Hannah  said  she  “  would  think  of  it, 
though  there  was  no  danger  yet!'  A  letter  from  Wash¬ 
ington  added  to  their  trouble,  for  Mr.  March  had  had  a 
relapse,  and  could  not  think  of  coming  home  for  a  long 
while. 

How  dark  the  days  seemed  now,  how  sad  and  lonely 
the  house,  and  how  heavy  were  the  hearts  of  the  sisters 
as  they  worked  and  waited,  while  the  shadow  of  death 
hovered  over  the  once  happy  home  !  Then  it  was  that 
Margaret,  sitting  alone  with  tears  dropping  often  on  her 
work,  felt  how  rich  she  had  been  in  things  more  pre¬ 
cious  than  any  luxuries  money  could  buy,  —  in  love, 
protection,  peace,  and  health,  the  real  blessings  of  life. 
Then  it  was  that  Jo,  living  in  the  darkened  room,  with 
that  suffering  little  sister  always  before  her  eyes,  and 
that  pathetic  voice  sounding  in  her  ears,  learned  to  see 
the  beauty  and  the  sweetness  of  Beth’s  nature,  to  feel 
how  deep  and  tender  a  place  she  filled  in  all  hearts,  and 
to  acknowledge  the  worth  of  Beth’s  unselfish  ambition 
to  live  for  others,  and  make  home  happy  by  the  exercise 
of  those  simple  virtues  which  all  may  possess,  and  which 
all  should  love  and  value  more  than  talent,  wealth,  or 
beauty.  And  Amy,  in  her  exile,  longed  eagerly  to  be 
at  home,  that  she  might  work  for  Beth,  feeling  now  that 
no  service  would  be  hard  or  irksome,  and  remembering, 
with  regretful  grief,  how  many  neglected  tasks  those 
willing  hands  had  done  for  her.  Laurie  haunted  the 
house  like  a  restless  ghost,  and  Mr.  Laurence  locked  the 


l 


Little  Women 


228 

grand  piano,  because  he  could  not  bear  to  be  reminded 
of  the  young  neighbor  who  used  to  make  the  twilight 
pleasant  for  him.  Every  one  missed  Beth.  The  milkman, 
baker,  grocer,  and  butcher  inquired  how  she  did ;  poor 
Mrs.  Hummel  came  to  beg  pardon  for  her  thoughtless¬ 
ness,  and  to  get  a  shroud  for  Minna ;  the  neighbors  sent 
all  sorts  of  comforts  and  good  wishes,  and  even  those 
who  knew  her  best  were  surprised  to  find  how  many 
friends  shy  little  Beth  had  made. 

Meanwhile  she  lay  on  her  bed  with  old  Joanna  at  her 
side,  for  even  in  her  wanderings  she  did  not  forget  her 
forlorn  protege.  She  longed  for  her  cats,  but  would  not 
have  them  brought,  lest  they  should  get  sick  ;  and,  in  her 
quiet  hours,  she  was  full  of  anxiety  about  Jo.  She  sent 
loving  messages  to  Amy,  bade  them  tell  her  mother  that 
she  would  write  soon ;  and  often  begged  for  pencil  and 
paper  to  try  to  say  a  word,  that  father  might  not  think 
she  had  neglected  him.  But  soon  even  these  intervals 
of  consciousness  ended,  and  she  lay  hour  after  hour,  toss¬ 
ing  to  and  fro,  with  incoherent  words  on  her  lips,  or 
sank  into  a  heavy  sleep  which  brought  her  no  refresh¬ 
ment.  Dr.  Bangs  came  twice  a  day,  Hannah  sat  up  at 
night,  Meg  kept  a  telegram  in  her  desk  all  ready  to  send 
off  at  any  minute,  and  Jo  never  stirred  from  Beth’s  side. 

The  first  of  December  was  a  wintry  day  indeed  to 
them,  for  a  bitter  wind  blew,  snow  fell  fast,  and  the  year 
seemed  getting  ready  for  its  death.  When  Dr.  Bangs 
came  that  morning,  he  looked  long  at  Beth,  held  the 
hot  hand  in  both  his  own  a  minute,  and  laid  it  gently 
down,  saying,  in  a  low  tone,  to  Hannah,  — 

“  If  Mrs.  March  can  leave  her  husband,  she’d  better 
be  sent  for.” 

Hannah  nodded  without  speaking,  for  her  lips  twitched 
nervously;  Meg  dropped  down  into  a  chair  as  the 


Dark  Days  229 

strength  seemed  to  go  out  of  her  limbs  at  the  sound  of 
those  words ;  and  Jo,  after  standing  with  a  pale  face  for 
a  minute,  ran  to  the  parlor,  snatched  up  the  telegram, 
and,  throwing  on  her  things,  rushed  out  into  the  storm. 
She  was  soon  back,  and,  while  noiselessly  taking  off  her 
cloak,  Laurie  came  in  with  a  letter,  saying  that  Mr. 
March  was  mending  again.  Jo  read  it  thankfully,  but 
the  heavy  weight  did  not  seem  lifted  off  her  heart, 
and  her  face  was  so  full  of  misery  that  Laurie  asked 
quickly,  — 

“  What  is  it?  is  Beth  worse?  ” 

“  I  ’ve  sent  for  mother,”  said  Jo,  tugging  at  her  rubber 
boots  with  a  tragical  expression. 

“  Good  for  you,  Jo  !  Did  you  do  it  on  your  own 
responsibility?”  asked  Laurie,  as  he  seated  her  in  the 
hall  chair,  and  took  off  the  rebellious  boots,  seeing  how 
her  hands  shook. 

“  No,  the  doctor  told  us  to.” 

“  O  Jo,  it’s  not  so  bad  as  that?  ”  cried  Laurie,  with 
a  startled  face. 

“Yes,  it  is ;  she  doesn’t  know  us,  she  doesn’t  even 
talk  about  the  flocks  of  green  doves,  as  she  calls  the 
vine-leaves  on  the  wall ;  she  does  n’t  look  like  my  Beth, 
and  there ’s  nobody  to  help  us  bear  it ;  mother  and 
father  both  gone,  and  God  seems  so  far  away  I  can’t 
find  Him.” 

As  the  tears  streamed  fast  down  poor  Jo’s  cheeks,  she 
stretched  out  her  hand  in  a  helpless  sort  of  way,  as 
if  groping  in  the  dark,  and  Laurie  took  it  in  his, 
whispering,  as  well  as  he  could,  with  a  lump  in  his 
throat,  — 

“  I ’m  here.  Hold  on  to  me,  Jo,  dear  !  ” 

She  could  not  speak,  but  she  did  “  hold  on,”  and  the 
warm  grasp  of  the  friendly  human  hand  comforted  her 


1 


Little  Women 


23° 

sore  heart,  and  seemed  to  lead  her  nearer  to  the  Divine 
arm  which  alone  could  uphold  her  in  her  trouble. 
Laurie  longed  to  say  something  tender  and  comfortable, 
but  no  fitting  words  came  to  him,  so  he  stood  silent, 
gently  stroking  her  bent  head  as  her  mother  used  to 
do.  It  was  the  best  thing  he  could  have  done ;  far  more 
soothing  than  the  most  eloquent  words,  for  Jo  felt  the 
unspoken  sympathy,  and,  in  the  silence,  learned  the 
sweet  solace  which  affection  administers  to  sorrow. 
Soon  she  dried  the  tears  which  had  relieved  her,  and 
looked  up  with  a  grateful  face. 

“  Thank  you,  Teddy,  I ’m  better  now;  I  don’t  feel  so 
forlorn,  and  will  try  to  bear  it  if  it  comes.” 

“Keep  hoping  for  the  best;  that  will  help  you,  Jo. 
Soon  your  mother  will  be  here,  and  then  everything-  will 
be  right.” 

“  I ’m  so  glad  father  is  better ;  now  she  won’t  feel  so 
bad  about  leaving  him.  Oh,  me  !  it  does  seem  as  if  all 
the  troubles  came  in  a  heap,  and  I  got  the  heaviest  part 
on  my  shoulders,”  sighed  Jo,  spreading  her  wet  hand¬ 
kerchief  over  her  knees  to  dry. 

“Doesn’t  Meg  pull  fair?”  asked  Laurie,  looking 
indignant. 

“  Oh,  yes;  she  tries  to,  but  she  can’t  love  Bethy  as  I 
do ;  and  she  won’t  miss  her  as  I  shall.  Beth  is  my 
conscience,  and  I  can't  give  her  up.  I  can’t !  I  can’t !  ” 

Down  went  Jo’s  face  into  the  wet  handkerchief,  and 
she  cried  despairingly ;  for  she  had  kept  up  bravely  till 
now,  and  never  shed  a  tear.  Laurie  drew  his  hand 
across  his  eyes,  but  could  not  speak  till  he  had  sub¬ 
dued  the  choky  feeling  in  his  throat  and  steadied  his 
lips.  It  might  be  unmanly,  but  he  could  n’t  help  it,  and 
I  am  glad  of  it.  Presently,  as  Jo’s  sobs  quieted,  he  said 
hopefully,  “I  don’t  think  she  will  die;  she’s  so  good, 


Dark  Days  2  3  1 

and  we  all  love  her  so  much,  I  don’t  believe  God  will 
take  her  away  yet.” 

“  The  good  and  dear  people  always  do  die,”  groaned 
Jo,  but  she  stopped  crying,  for  her  friend’s  words 
cheered  her  up,  in  spite  of  her  own  doubts  and  fears. 

“  Poor  girl,  you  ’re  worn  out.  It  is  n’t  like  you  to 
be  forlorn.  Stop  a  bit;  I  ’ll  hearten  you  up  in  a  jiffy.” 

Laurie  went  off  two  stairs  at  a  time,  and  Jo  laid  her 
wearied  head  down  on  Beth’s  little  brown  hood,  which 
no  one  had  thought  of  moving  from  the  table  where  she 
left  it.  It  must  have  possessed  some  magic,  for  the 
submissive  spirit  of  its  gentle  owner  seemed  to  enter 
into  Jo;  and,  when  Laurie  came  running  down  with  a 
glass  of  wine,  she  took  it  with  a  smile,  and  said  bravely, 
“  I  drink  —  Health  to  my  Beth  !  You  are  a  good  doctor, 
Teddy,  and  such  a  comfortable  friend ;  how  can  I  ever 
pay  you?”  she  added,  as  the  wine  refreshed  her  body, 
as  the  kind  words  had  done  her  troubled  mind. 

“  I  ’ll  send  in  my  bill,  by  and  by ;  and  to-night  I  ’ll 
give  you  something  that  will  warm  the  cockles  of  your 
heart  better  than  quarts  of  wine,”  said  Laurie,  beam¬ 
ing  at  her  with  a  face  of  suppressed  satisfaction  at 
something. 

“What  is  it?”  cried  Jo,  forgetting  her  woes  for  a 
minute,  in  her  wonder. 

“  I  telegraphed  to  your  mother  yesterday,  and  Brooke 
answered  she ’d  come  at  once,  and  she  ’ll  be  here  to¬ 
night,  and  everything  will  be  all  right.  Are  n’t  you  glad 
I  did  it?  ” 

Laurie  spoke  very  fast,  and  turned  red  and  excited  all 
in  a  minute,  for  he  had  kept  his  plot  a  secret,  for  fear  of 
disappointing  the  girls  or  harming  Beth.  Jo  grew  quite 
white,  flew  out  of  her  chair,  and  the  moment  he  stopped 
speaking  she  electrified  him  by  throwing  her  arms 


Little  Women 


232 

round  his  neck,  and  crying  out,  with  a  joyful  cry,  “  O 
Laurie  !  O  mother !  I  am  so  glad  !  ”  She  did  not 
weep  again,  but  laughed  hysterically,  and  trembled  and 
clung  to  her  friend  as  if  she  was  a  little  bewildered  by 
the  sudden  news. 

Laurie,  though  decidedly  amazed,  behaved  with  great 
presence  of  mind ;  he  patted  her  back  soothingly,  and, 
finding  that  she  was  recovering,  followed  it  up  by  a 
bashful  kiss  or  two,  which  brought  Jo  round  at  once. 
Holding  on  to  the  banisters,  she  put  him  gently  away, 
saying  breathlessly,  “  Oh,  don’t !  I  did  n’t  mean  to ;  it 
was  dreadful  of  me  ;  but  you  were  such  a  dear  to  go  and 
do  it  in  spite  of  Hannah  that  I  couldn’t  help  flying  at 
you.  Tell  me  all  about  it,  and  don’t  give  me  wine 
again ;  it  makes  me  act  so.” 

“  I  don’t  mind,”  laughed  Laurie,  as  he  settled  his  tie. 
“  Why,  you  see  I  got  fidgety,  and  so  did  grandpa.  We 
thought  Hannah  was  overdoing  the  authority  business, 
and  your  mother  ought  to  know.  She ’d  never  forgive 
us  if  Beth  —  well,  if  anything  happened,  you  know.  So 
I  got  grandpa  to  say  it  was  high  time  we  did  something, 
and  off  I  pelted  to  the  office  yesterday,  for  the  doctor 
looked  sober,  and  Hannah  most  took  my  head  off  when 
I  proposed  a  telegram.  I  never  can  bear  to  be  ‘  lorded 
over;’  so  that  settled  my  mind,  and  I  did  it.  Your 
mother  will  come,  I  know,  and  the  late  train  is  in  at  two, 
A.M.  I  shall  go  for  her;  and  you ’ve  only  got  to  bottle 
up  your  rapture,  and  keep  Beth  quiet,  till  that  blessed 
lady  gets  here.” 

“  Laurie,  you  ’re  an  angel !  How  shall  I  ever  thank 
you  ?  ” 

“  Fly  at  me  again;  I  rather  like  it,”  said  Laurie, 
looking  mischievous, — a  thing  he  had  not  done  fora 
fortnight. 


Dark  Days  233 

“No,  thank  you.  I’ll  do  it  by  proxy,  when  your 
grandpa  comes.  Don’t  tease,  but  go  home  and  rest,  for 
you’ll  be  up  half  the  night.  Bless  you,  Teddy,  bless 
you !  ” 

Jo  had  backed  into  a  corner;  and,  as  she  finished  her 
speech,  she  vanished  precipitately  into  the  kitchen, 
where  she  sat  down  upon  a  dresser,  and  told  the 
assembled  cats  that  she  was  “  happy,  oh,  so  happy !  ” 
while  Laurie  departed,  feeling  that  he  had  made  rather 
a  neat  thing  of  it. 

“  That ’s  the  interferingest  chap  I  ever  see ;  but  I  for¬ 
give  him,  and  do  hope  Mrs.  March  is  coming  on  right 
away,”  said  Hannah,  with  an  air  of  relief,  when  jo  told 
the  good  news. 

Meg  had  a  quiet  rapture,  and  then  brooded  over  the 
letter,  while  Jo  set  the  sick-room  in  order,  and  Hannah 
“  knocked  up  a  couple  of  pies  in  case  of  company 
unexpected.”  A  breath  of  fresh  air  seemed  to  blow 
through  the  house,  and  something  better  than  sunshine 
brightened  the  quiet  rooms.  Everything  appeared  to 
feel  the  hopeful  change  ;  Beth’s  bird  began  to  chirp  again, 
and  a  half-blown  rose  was  discovered  on  Amy’s  bush  in 
the  window ;  the  fires  seemed  to  burn  with  unusual  cheer¬ 
iness  ;  and  every  time  the  girls  met,  their  pale  faces  broke 
into  smiles  as  they  hugged  one  another,  whispering  en¬ 
couragingly,  “Mother’s  coming,  dear!  mother’s  com¬ 
ing!”  Every  one  rejoiced  but  Beth;  she  lay  in  that 
heavy  stupor,  alike  unconscious  of  hope  and  joy,  doubt 
and  danger.  It  was  a  piteous  sight, — the  once  rosy 
face  so  changed  and  vacant,  the  once  busy  hands  so 
weak  and  wasted,  the  once  smiling  lips  quite  dumb,  and 
the  once  pretty,  well-kept  hair  scattered  rough  and  tan¬ 
gled  on  the  pillow.  All  day  she  lay  so,  only  rousing  now 
and  then  to  mutter,  “  Water  !  ”  with  lips  so  parched  they 


Little  Women 


234 

could  hardly  shape  the  word ;  all  day  Jo  and  Meg  how 
ered  over  her,  watching,  waiting,  hoping,  and  trusting  in 
God  and  mother  ;  and  all  day  the  snow  fell,  the  bitter 
wind  raged,  and  the  hours  dragged  slowly  by.  But  night 
came  at  last ;  and  every  time  the  clock  struck,  the  sisters, 
still  sitting  on  either  side  the  bed,  looked  at  each  other 
with  brightening  eyes,  for  each  hour  brought  help  nearer. 
The  doctor  had  been  in  to  say  that  some  change,  for 
better  or  worse,  would  probably  take  place  about 
midnight,  at  which  time  he  would  return. 

Hannah,  quite  worn  out,  lay  down  on  the  sofa  at 
the  bed’s  foot,  and  fell  fast  asleep ;  Mr.  Laurence 
marched  to  and  fro  in  the  parlor,  feeling  that  he  would 
rather  face  a  rebel  battery  than  Mrs.  March’s  anxious 
countenance  as  she  entered ;  Laurie  lay  on  the  rug, 
pretending  to  rest,  but  staring  into  the  fire  with  the 
thoughtful  look  which  made  his  black  eyes  beautifully 
soft  and  clear. 

The  girls  never  forgot  that  night,  for  no  sleep  came 
to  them  as  they  kept  their  watch,  with  that  dreadful 
sense  of  powerlessness  which  comes  to  us  in  hours  like 
those. 

“  If  God  spares  Beth  I  never  will  complain  again,” 
whispered  Meg  earnestly. 

“  If  God  spares  Beth  I  ’ll  try  to  love  and  serve  Him 
all  my  life,”  answered  Jo,  with  equal  fervor. 

“  I  wish  I  had  no  heart,  it  aches  so,”  sighed  Meg,  after 
a  pause. 

“  If  life  is  often  as  hard  as  this,  I  don’t  see  how  we 
ever  shall  get  through  it,”  added  her  sister  despondently. 

Here  the  clock  struck  twelve,  and  both  forgot  them¬ 
selves  in  watching  Beth,  for  they  fancied  a  change 
passed  over  her  wan  face.  The  house  was  still  as  death, 
and  nothing  but  the  wailing  of  the  wind  broke  the  deep 


Dark  Days  235 

hush.  Weary  Hannah  slept  on,  and  no  one  but  the 
sisters  saw  the  pale  shadow  which  seemed  to  fall  upon 
the  little  bed.  An  hour  went  by,  and  nothing  happened 
except  Laurie’s  quiet  departure  for  the  station.  Another 
hour,  —  still  no  one  came;  and  anxious  fears  of  delay 
in  the  storm,  or  accidents  by  the  way,  or,  worst  of 
all,  a  great  grief  at  Washington,  haunted  the  poor 
girls. 

It  was  past  two,  when  Jo,  who  stood  at  the  window 
thinking  how  dreary  the  world  looked  in  its  winding- 
sheet  of  snow,  heard  a  movement  by  the  bed,  and, 
turning  quickly,  saw  Meg  kneeling  before  their  mother’s 
easy-chair,  with  her  face  hidden.  A  dreadful  fear 
passed  coldly  over  Jo,  as  she  thought,  “  Beth  is  dead, 
and  Meg  is  afraid  to  tell  me.” 

She  was  back  at  her  post  in  an  instant,  and  to  her 
excited  eyes  a  great  change  seemed  to  have  taken 
place.  The  fever  flush  and  the  look  of  pain  were  gone, 
and  the  beloved  little  face  looked  so  pale  and  peaceful 
in  its  utter  repose,  that  Jo  felt  no  desire  to  weep  or 
to  lament.  Leaning  low  over  this  dearest  of  her 
sisters,  she  kissed  the  damp  forehead  with  her  heart 
on  her  lips,  and  softly  whispered,  “  Good-by,  my  Beth; 
good-by !  ” 

As  if  waked  by  the  stir,  Hannah  started  out  of  her 
sleep,  hurried  to  the  bed,  looked  at  Beth,  felt  her  hands, 
listened  at  her  lips,  and  then,  throwing  her  apron  over 
her  head,  sat  down  to  rock  to  and  fro,  exclaiming,  under 
her  breath,  “  The  fever ’s  turned  ;  she ’s  sleepin’  nat’ral  ; 
her  skin ’s  damp,  and  she  breathes  easy.  Praise  be 
given  !  Oh,  my  goodness  me  !  ” 

Before  the  girls  could  believe  the  happy  truth,  the 
doctor  came  to  confirm  it.  He  was  a  homely  man,  but 
they  thought  his  face  quite  heavenly  when  he  smiled, 


Little  Women 


236 

and  said,  with  a  fatherly  look  at  them,  “Yes,  my  dears, 
I  think  the  little  girl  will  pull  through  this  time.  Keep 
the  house  quiet;  let  her  sleep,  and  when  she  wakes, 
give  her  —  ” 

What  they  were  to  give,  neither  heard  ;  for  both  crept 
into  the  dark  hall,  and,  sitting  on  the  stairs,  held  each 
other  close,  rejoicing  with  hearts  too  full  for  words. 
When  they  went  back  to  be  kissed  and  cuddled  by 
faithful  Hannah,  they  found  Beth  lying,  as  she  used  to 
do,  with  her  cheek  pillowed  on  her  hand,  the  dread¬ 
ful  pallor  gone,  and  breathing  quietly,  as  if  just  fallen 
asleep. 

“If  mother  would  only  come  now!”  said  Jo,  as  the 
winter  night  began  to  wane. 

“  See,”  said  Meg,  coming  up  with  a  white,  half-opened 
rose,  “  I  thought  this  would  hardly  be  ready  to  lay  in 
Beth’s  hand  to-morrow  if  she  —  went  away  from  us.  But 
it  has  blossomed  in  the  night,  and  now  I  mean  to  put  it 
in  my  vase  here,  so  that  when  the  darling  wakes,  the 
first  thing  she  sees  will  be  the  little  rose,  and  mother’s 
face.” 

Never  had  the  sun  risen  so  beautifully,  and  never  had 
the  world  seemed  so  lovely,  as  it  did  to  the  heavy  eyes 
of  Meg  and  Jo,  as  they  looked  out  in  the  early  morning, 
when  their  long,  sad  vigil  was  done. 

“  It  looks  like  a  fairy  world,”  said  Meg,  smiling  to 
herself,  as  she  stood  behind  the  curtain,  watching  the 
dazzling  sight. 

“  Hark  !  ”  cried  Jo,  starting  to  her  feet. 

Yes,  there  was  a  sound  of  bells  at  the  door  below, 
a  cry  from  Hannah,  and  then  Laurie’s  voice  saying,  in 
a  joyful  whisper,  “  Girls,  she ’s  come  !  she ’s  come  !  ” 


Amy’s  Will 


237 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AMY’S  WILL 

WHILE  these  things  were  happening  at  home, 
Amy  was  having  hard  times  at  Aunt  March’s. 
She  felt  her  exile  deeply,  and,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  realized  how  much  she  was  beloved  and 
petted  at  home.  Aunt  March  never  petted  any  one ; 
she  did  not  approve  of  it ;  but  she  meant  to  be  kind, 
for  the  well-behaved  little  girl  pleased  her  very  much, 
and  Aunt  March  had  a  soft  place  in  her  old  heart  for 
her  nephew’s  children,  though  she  did  n’t  think  proper 
to  confess  it.  She  really  did  her  best  to  make  Amy 
happy,  but,  dear  me,  what  mistakes  she  made  !  Some 
old  people  keep  young  at  heart  in  spite  of  wrinkles  and 
gray  hairs,  can  sympathize  with  children’s  little  cares 
and  joys,  make  them  feel  at  home,  and  can  hide  wise 
lessons  under  pleasant  plays,  giving  and  receiving  friend¬ 
ship  in  the  sweetest  way.  But  Aunt  March  had  not  this 
gift,  and  she  worried  Amy  very  much  with  her  rules  and 
orders,  her  prim  ways,  and  long,  prosy  talks.  Finding 
the  child  more  docile  and  amiable  than  her  sister,  the  old 
lady  felt  it  her  duty  to  try  and  counteract,  as  far  as 
possible,  the  bad  effects  of  home  freedom  and  indulgence. 
So  she  took  Amy  in  hand,  and  taught  her  as  she  herself 
had  been  taught  sixty  years  ago,  —  a  process  which  car¬ 
ried  dismay  to  Amy’s  soul,  and  made  her  feel  like  a  fly 
in  the  web  of  a  very  strict  spider. 

She  had  to  wash  the  cups  every  morning,  and  polish 
up  the  old-fashioned  spoons,  the  fat  silver  teapot,  and 
the  glasses,  till  they  shone.  Then  she  must  dust  the 
room,  and  what  a  trying  job  that  was!  Not  a  speck 


Little  Women 


238 

escaped  Aunt  March’s  eye,  and  all  the  furniture  had 
claw  legs,  and  much  carving,  which  was  never  dusted  to 
suit.  Then  Polly  must  be  fed,  the  lap-dog  combed,  and 
a  dozen  trips  upstairs  and  down,  to  get  things,  or  deliver 
orders,  for  the  old  lady  was  very  lame,  and  seldom  left 
her  big  chair.  After  these  tiresome  labors,  she  must  do 
her  lessons,  which  was  a  daily  trial  of  every  virtue  she 
possessed.  Then  she  was  allowed  one  hour  for  exercise 
or  play,  and  didn’t  she  enjoy  it?  Laurie  came  every 
day,  and  wheedled  Aunt  March,  till  Amy  was  allowed 
to  go  out  with  him,  when  they  walked  and  rode,  and  had 
capital  times.  After  dinner,  she  had  to  read  aloud,  and 
sit  still  while  the  old  lady  slept,  which  she  usually  did 
for  an  hour,  as  she  dropped  off  over  the  first  page. 
Then  patchwork  or  towels  appeared,  and  Amy  sewed 
with  outward  meekness  and  inward  rebellion  till  duskt 
when  she  was  allowed  to  amuse  herself  as  she  liked  till 
tea-time.  The  evenings  were  the  worst  of  all,  for  Aunt 
March  fell  to  telling  long  stories  about  her  youth,  which 
were  so  unutterably  dull  that  Amy  was  always  ready  to 
go  to  bed,  intending  to  cry  over  her  hard  fate,  but 
usually  going  to  sleep  before  she  had  squeezed  out  more 
than  a  tear  or  two. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  Laurie,  and  old  Esther,  the 
maid,  she  felt  that  she  never  could  have  got  through 
that  dreadful  time.  The  parrot  alone  was  enough  to 
drive  her  distracted,  for  he  soon  felt  that  she  did  not 
admire  him,  and  revenged  himself  by  being  as  mis¬ 
chievous  as  possible.  He  pulled  her  hair  whenever 
she  came  near  him,  upset  his  bread  and  milk  to 
plague  her  when  she  had  newly  cleaned  his  cage, 
made  Mop  bark  by  pecking  at  him  while  Madam 
dozed ;  called  her  names  before  company,  and  be¬ 
haved  in  all  respects  like  a  reprehensible  old  bird. 


Amy’s  Will  239 

Then  she  could  not  endure  the  dog,  —  a  fat,  cross 
beast,  who  snarled  and  yelped  at  her  when  she  made 
his  toilet,  and  who  lay  on  his  back,  with  all  his  legs  in 
the  air  and  a  most  idiotic  expression  of  countenance 
when  he  wanted  something  to  eat,  which  was  about  a 
dozen  times  a  day.  The  cook  was  bad-tempered,  the 
old  coachman  deaf,  and  Esther  the  only  one  who  ever 
took  any  notice  of  the  young  lady. 

Esther  was  a  Frenchwoman,  who  had  lived  with 
“  Madame,”  as  she  called  her  mistress,  for  many 
years,  and  who  rather  tyrannized  over  the  old  lady, 
who  could  not  get  along  without  her.  Her  real  name 
was  Estelle,  but  Aunt  March  ordered  her  to  change  it, 
and  she  obeyed,  on  condition  that  she  was  never  asked 
to  change  her  religion.  She  took  a  fancy  to  Mademoi¬ 
selle,  and  amused  her  very  much,  with  odd  stories  of 
her  life  in  France,  when  Amy  sat  with  her  while  she 
got  up  Madame’s  laces.  She  also  allowed  her  to  roam 
about  the  great  house,  and  examine  the  curious  and 
pretty  things  stored  away  in  the  big  wardrobes  and 
the  ancient  chests ;  for  Aunt  March  hoarded  like  a  mag¬ 
pie.  Amy’s  chief  delight  was  an  Indian  cabinet,  full  of 
queer  drawers,  little  pigeon-holes,  and  secret  places,  in 
which  were  kept  all  sorts  of  ornaments,  some  precious, 
some  merely  curious,  all  more  or  less  antique.  To  ex¬ 
amine  and  arrange  these  things  gave  Amy  great  satis¬ 
faction,  especially  the  jewel-cases,  in  which,  on  velvet 
cushions,  reposed  the  ornaments  which  had  adorned  a 
belle  forty  years  ago.  There  was  the  garnet  set  which 
Aunt  March  wore  when  she  came  out,  the  pearls  her 
father  gave  her  on  her  wedding-day,  her  lover’s  dia¬ 
monds,  the  jet  mourning  rings  and  pins,  the  queer 
lockets,  with  portraits  of  dead  friends,  and  weeping 
willows  made  of  hair  inside;  the  baby  bracelets  her 


Little  Women 


240 

one  little  daughter  had  worn ;  Uncle  March’s  big 
watch,  with  the  red  seal  so  many  childish  hands  had 
played  with,  and  in  a  box,  all  by  itself,  lay  Aunt 
March’s  wedding-ring,  too  small  now  for  her  fat  finger, 
but  put  carefully  away,  like  the  most  precious  jewel  of 
them  all. 

“Which  would  Mademoiselle  choose  if  she  had  her 
will?”  asked  Esther,  who  always  sat  near  to  watch  over 
and  lock  up  the  valuables. 

“  I  like  the  diamonds  best,  but  there  is  no  necklace 
among  them,  and  I  ’m  fond  of  necklaces,  they  are  so 
becoming.  I  should  choose  this  if  I  might,”  replied 
Amy,  looking  with  great  admiration  at  a  string  of  gold 
and  ebony  beads,  from  which  hung  a  heavy  cross  of  the 
same. 

“I,  too,  covet  that,  but  not  as  a  necklace;  ah,  no! 
to  me  it  is  a  rosary,  and  as  such  I  should  use  it  like  a 
good  Catholic,”  said  Esther,  eying  the  handsome  thing 
wistfully. 

“  Is  it  meant  to  use  as  you  use  the  string  of  good' 
smelling  wooden  beads  hanging  over  your  glass?” 
asked  Amy. 

“  Truly,  yes,  to  pray  with.  It  would  be  pleasing  to 
the  saints  if  one  used  so  fine  a  rosary  as  this,  instead 
of  wearing  it  as  a  vain  bijou.” 

“  You  seem  to  take  a  great  deal  of  comfort  in  your 
prayers,  Esther,  and  always  come  down  looking  quiet 
and  satisfied.  I  wish  I  could.” 

“  If  Mademoiselle  was  a  Catholic,  She  would  find  true 
comfort;  but,  as  that  is  not  to  be,  it  would  be  well  if 
you  went  apart  each  day,  to  meditate  and  pray,  as  did 
the  good  mistress  whom  I  served  before  Madame.  She 
had  a  little  chapel,  and  in  it  found  solacement  for  much 
trouble.” 


Amy’s  Will  241 

**  Would  it  be  right  for  me  to  do  so  too  ?  ”  asked 
Amy,  who,  in  her  loneliness,  felt  the  need  of  help  of 
some  sort,  and  found  that  she  was  apt  to  forget  her 
little  book,  now  that  Beth  was  not  there  to  remind 
her  of  it. 

“It  would  be  excellent  and  charming;  and  I  shall 
gladly  arrange  the  little  dressing-room  for  you  if  you 
like  it.  Say  nothing  to  Madame,  but  when  she  sleeps 
go  you  and  sit  alone  a  while  to  think  good  thoughts, 
and  pray  the  dear  God  to  preserve  your  sister.” 

Esther  was  truly  pious,  and  quite  sincere  in  her 
advice ;  for  she  had  an  affectionate  heart,  and  felt 
much  for  the  sisters  in  their  anxiety.  Amy  liked  the 
idea,  and  gave  her  leave  to  arrange  the  light  closet 
next  her  room,  hoping  it  would  do  her  good. 

“  I  wish  I  knew  where  all  these  pretty  things  would 
go  when  Aunt  March  dies,”  she  said,  as  she  slowly 
replaced  the  shining  rosary,  and  shut  the  jewel-cases 
one  by  one. 

“  To  you  and  your  sisters.  I  know  it;  Madame  con¬ 
fides  in  me;  I  witnessed  her  will,  and  it  is  to  be  so,” 
whispered  Esther,  smiling. 

“  How  nice  !  but  I  wish  she  ’d  let  us  have  them  now. 
Pro-cras-ti-nation  is  not  agreeable,”  observed  Amy, 
taking  a  last  look  at  the  diamonds. 

“  It  is  too  soon  yet  for  the  young  ladies  to  wear 
these  things.  The  first  one  who  is  affianced  will  have 
the  pearls  —  Madame  has  said  it;  and  I  have  a  fancy 
that  the  little  turquoise  ring  will  be  given  to  you  when 
you  go,  for  Madame  approves  your  good  behavior  and 
charming  manners.” 

“  Do  you  think  so?  Oh,  I  ’ll  be  a  lamb,  if  I  can  only 
have  that  lovely  ring  !  It ’s  ever  so  much  prettier  than 

Kitty  Bryant’s.  I  do  like  Aunt  March,  after  all ;  ”  and 

16 


Little  Women 


242 

Amy  tried  on  the  blue  ring  with  a  delighted  face,  and  a 
firm  resolve  to  earn  it. 

From  that  day  she  was  a  model  of  obedience,  and 
the  old  lady  complacently  admired  the  success  of  her 
training.  Esther  fitted  up  the  closet  with  a  little  table, 
placed  a  footstool  before  it,  and  over  it  a  picture  taken 
from  one  of  the  shut-up  rooms.  She  thought  it  was  of 
no  great  value,  but,  being  appropriate,  she  borrowed  it, 
well  knowing  that  Madame  would  never  know  it,  nor 
care  if  she  did.  It  was,  however,  a  very  valuable  copy 
of  one  of  the  famous  pictures  of  the  world,  and  Amy’s 
beauty-loving  eyes  were  never  tired  of  looking  up  at 
the  sweet  face  of  the  divine  mother,  while  tender 
thoughts  of  her  own  were  busy  at  her  heart.  On  the 
table  she  laid  her  little  Testament  and  hymn-book, 

kept  a  vase  always  full  of  the  best  flowers  Laurie 

% 

brought  her,  and  came  every  day  to  “  sit  alone,  thinking 
good  thoughts,  and  praying  the  dear  God  to  preserve 
her  sister.”  Esther  had  given  her  a  rosary  of  black 
beads,  with  a  silver  cross,  but  Amy  hung  it  up  and 
did  not  use  it,  feeling  doubtful  as  to  its  fitness  for 
Protestant  prayers. 

The  little  girl  was  very  sincere  in  all  this,  for,  being 
left  alone  outside  the  safe  home-nest,  she  felt  the  need 
of  some  kind  hand  to  hold  by  so  sorely,  that  she  in¬ 
stinctively  turned  to  the  strong  and  tender  Friend, 
whose  fatherly  love  most  closely  surrounds  his  little 
children.  She  missed  her  mother’s  help  to  under¬ 
stand  and  rule  herself,  but  having  been  taught  where 
to  look,  she  did  her  best  to  find  the  way,  and  walk  in 
it  confidingly.  But  Amy  was  a  young  pilgrim,  and 
just  now  her  burden  seemed  very  heavy.  She  tried  to 
forget  herself,  to  keep  cheerful,  and  be  satisfied  with 
doing  right,  though  no  one  saw  or  praised  her  for  it 


|  1 


> 


* 


.  ' 


BE 


Amy’s  Will  243 

In  her  first  effort  at  being  very,  very  good,  she  de« 
cided  to  make  her  will,  as  Aunt  March  had  done ; 
so  that  if  she  did  fall  ill  and  die,  her  possessions 
might  be  justly  and  generously  divided.  It  cost  her  a 
pang  even  to  think  of  giving  up  the  little  treasures 
which  in  her  eyes  were  as  precious  as  the  old  lady’s 
jewels. 

During  one  of  her  play-hours  she  wrote  out  the  im¬ 
portant  document  as  wrell  as  she  could,  with  some  help 
from  Esther  as  to  certain  legal  terms,  and,  when  the  good- 
natured  Frenchwoman  had  signed  her  name,  Amy  felt 
relieved,  and  laid  it  by  to  show  Laurie,  whom  she  wanted 
as  a  second  witness.  As  it  was  a  rainy  day,  she  went  up¬ 
stairs  to  amuse  herself  in  one  of  the  large  chambers,  and 
took  Polly  with  her  for  company.  In  this  room  there 
was  a  wardrobe  full  of  old-fashioned  costumes,  with  which 
Esther  allowed  her  to  play,  and  it  was  her  favorite  amuse¬ 
ment  to  array  herself  in  the  faded  brocades,  and  parade 
up  and  down  before  the  long  mirror,  making  stately  cour¬ 
tesies,  and  sweeping  her  train  about,  with  a  rustle  which 
delighted  her  ears.  So  busy  was  she  on  this  day  that  she 
did  not  hear  Laurie’s  ring,  nor  see  his  face  peeping  in  at 
her,  as  she  gravely  promenaded  to  and  fro,  flirting  her  fan 
and  tossing  her  head,  on  which  she  wore  a  great  pink 
turban,  contrasting  oddly  with  her  blue  brocade  dress  and 
yellow  quilted  petticoat.  She  was  obliged  to  walk  care¬ 
fully,  for  she  had  on  high-heeled  shoes,  and,  as  Laurie 
told  Jo  afterward,  it  was  a  comical  sight  to  see  her  mince 
along  in  her  gay  suit,  with  Polly  sidling  and  bridling  just 
behind  her,  imitating  her  as  well  as  he  could,  and  occa¬ 
sionally  stopping  to  laugh  or  exclaim,  “  Ain’t  we  fine? 
Get  along,  you  fright !  Hold  your  tongue  !  Kiss  me, 
dear  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ” 

Having  with  difficulty  restrained  an  explosion  of  merri- 


Little  Women 


2  44 

ment,  lest  it  should  offend  her  majesty,  Laurie  tapped, 
and  was  graciously  received. 

“  Sit  down  and  rest  while  I  put  these  things  away ;  then 
I  want  to  consult  you  about  a  very  serious  matter,”  said 
Amy,  when  she  had  shown  her  splendor,  and  driven  Polly 
into  a  corner.  “That  bird  is  the  trial  of  my  life,”  she 
continued,  removing  the  pink  mountain  from  her  head, 
while  Laurie  seated  himself  astride  of  a  chair.  “Yester¬ 
day,  when  aunt  was  asleep,  and  I  was  trying  to  be  as  still 
as  a  mouse,  Polly  began  to  squall  and  flap  about  in  his 
cage;  so  I  went  to  let  him  out,  and  found  a  big  spider 
there.  I  poked  it  out,  and  it  ran  under  the  bookcase; 
Polly  marched  straight  after  it,  stooped  down  and  peeped 
under  the  bookcase,  saying,  in  his  funny  way,  with  a 
cock  of  his  eye,  ‘  Come  out  and  take  a  walk,  my  dear.’ 
I  couldn't  help  laughing,  which  made  Poll  swear,  and 
aunt  woke  up  and  scolded  us  both.” 

“Did  the  spider  accept  the  old  fellow’s  invitation?” 
asked  Laurie,  yawning. 

“Yes;  out  it  came,  and  away  ran  Polly,  frightened  to 
death,  and  scrambled  up  on  aunt’s  chair,  calling  out, 
‘  Catch  her  !  catch  her  !  catch  her !  ’  as  I  chased  the 
spider.” 

“  That ’s  a  lie  !  Oh  lor !  ”  cried  the  parrot,  pecking  at 
Laurie’s  toes. 

“  I ’d  wring  your  neck  if  you  were  mine,  you  old  tor¬ 
ment,”  cried  Laurie,  shaking  his  fist  at  the  bird,  who  put 
his  head  on  one  side,  and  gravely  croaked,  “  Allyluyer ! 
bless  your  buttons,  dear  !  ” 

“  Now  I  ’m  ready,”  said  Amy,  shutting  the  wardrobe, 
and  taking  a  paper  out  of  her  pocket.  “  I  want  you  to 
read  that,  please,  and  tell  me  if  it  is  legal  and  right.  I  felt 
that  I  ought  to  do  it,  for  life  is  uncertain  and  I  don’t 
want  any  ill-feeling  over  my  tomb.” 


Amy’s  Will  245 

Laurie  bit  his  lips,  and  turning  a  little  from  the  pen- 
sive  speaker,  read  the  following  document,  with  praise- 
worthy  gravity,  considering  the  spelling:  — 


“MY  LAST  WILL  AND  TESTIMENT. 

“  I,  Amy  Curtis  March,  being  in  my  sane  mind,  do  give 
and  bequeethe  all  my  earthly  property  —  viz.  to  wit:  — 
namely 

“  To  my  father,  my  best  pictures,  sketches,  maps,  and 
works  of  art,  including  frames.  Also  my  $100,  to  do  what 
he  likes  with. 

“  To  my  mother,  all  my  clothes,  except  the  blue  apron 
with  pockets,  —  also  my  likeness,  and  my  medal,  with  much 
love. 

“To  my  dear  sister  Margaret,  I  give  my  turkquoise  ring  (if 
I  get  it),  also  my  green  box  with  the  doves  on  it,  also  my 
piece  of  real  lace  for  her  neck,  and  my  sketch  of  her  as  a 
memorial  of  her  ‘little  girl.’ 

“To  Jo  I  leave  my  breast-pin,  the  one  mended  with  seal¬ 
ing  wax,  also  my  bronze  inkstand  —  she  lost  the  cover  —  and 
my  most  precious  plaster  rabbit,  because  I  am  sorry  I  burnt 
up  her  story. 

“To  Beth  (if  she  lives  after  me)  I  give  my  dolls  and  the 
little  bureau,  my  fan,  my  linen  collars  and  my  new  slippers  if 
she  can  wear  them  being  thin  when  she  gets  well.  And  I 
herewith  also  leave  her  my  regret  that  I  ever  made  fun  of  old 
Joanna. 

“To  my  friend  and  neighbor  Theodore  Laurence  I  bequeethe 
my  paper  marshay  portfolio,  my  clay  model  of  a  horse  though 
he  did  say  it  had  n’t  any  neck.  Also  in  return  for  his  great 
kindness  in  the  hour  of  affliction  any  one  of  my  artistic  works 
he  likes,  Noter  Dame  is  the  best. 

“  To  our  venerable  benefactor  Mr.  Laurence  I  leave  my 
purple  box  with  a  looking  glass  in  the  cover  which  will  be  nice 


Little  Women 


for  his  pens  and  remind  him  of  the  departed  girl  who  thanks 
him  for  his  favors  to  her  family,  specially  Beth. 

« I  wish  my  favorite  playmate  Kitty  Bryant  to  have  the  blu6 
silk  apron  and  my  gold-bead  ring  with  a  kiss. 

“To  Hannah  I  give  the  bandbox  she  wanted  and  all  the 
patch  work  I  leave  hoping  she  ‘  will  remember  me,  when  it 
you  see.’ 

“  And  now  having  disposed  of  my  most  valuable  property 
I  hope  all  will  be  satisfied  and  not  blame  the  dead.  I  forgive 
every  one,  and  trust  we  may  all  meet  when  the  trump  shall 
sound.  Amen. 

“  To  this  will  and  testiment  1  set  my  hand  and  seal  on  this 
20th  day  of  Nov.  Anni  Domino  1861. 

“Amy  Curtis  March. 


“  Witnesses  : 


s 


Estelle  Valnor, 
Theodore  Laurence.” 


The  last  name  was  written  in  pencil,  and  Amy  ex¬ 
plained  that  he  was  to  rewrite  it  in  ink,  and  seal  it  up 
for  her  properly. 

“  What  put  it  into  your  head?  Did  any  one  tell  you 
about  Beth’s  giving  away  her  things?”  asked  Laurie 
soberly,  as  Amy  laid  a  bit  of  red  tape,  with  sealing-wax, 
a  taper,  and  a  standish  before  him. 

She  explained ;  and  then  asked  anxiously,  “  What 
about  Beth?” 

“  I’m  sorry  I  spoke;  but  as  I  did,  I’ll  tell  you.  She 
felt  so  ill  one  day  that  she  told  Jo  she  wanted  to  give  her 
piano  to  Meg,  her  cats  to  you,  and  the  poor  old  doll  to 
Jo,  who  would  love  it  for  her  sake.  She  was  sorry  she 
had  so  little  to  give,  and  left  locks  of  hair  to  the  rest  of 
us,  and  her  best  love  to  grandpa.  She  never  thought 
jof  a  will.” 

Laurie  was  signing  and  sealing  as  he  spoke,  and  did 
not  look  up  till  a  great  tear  dropped  on  the  paper.  Amy’s 


Confidential 


247 

face  was  full  of  trouble  ;  but  she  only  said,  “  Don’t  people 
put  sort  of  postscrips  to  their  wills,  sometimes?  ” 

“  Yes;  ‘  codicils,’  they  call  them.” 

“  Put  one  in  mine  then  —  that  I  wish  all  my  curls  cut 
off,  and  given  round  to  my  friends.  I  forgot  it;  but  I 
want  it  done,  though  it  will  spoil  my  looks.” 

Laurie  added  it,  smiling  at  Amy’s  last  and  greatest  sac¬ 
rifice.  Then  he  amused  her  for  an  hour,  and  was  much 
interested  in  all  her  trials.  But  when  he  came  to  go, 
Amy  held  him  back  to  whisper,  with  trembling  lips,  “  Is 
there  really  any  danger  about  Beth?” 

“  I ’m  afraid  there  is;  but  we  must  hope  for  the  best, 
so  don’t  cry,  dear;  ”  and  Laurie  put  his  arm  about  her 
with  a  brotherly  gesture  which  was  very  comforting. 

When  he  had  gone,  she  went  to  her  little  chapel,  and, 
sitting  in  the  twilight,  prayed  for  Beth,  with  streaming 
tears  and  an  aching  heart,  feeling  that  a  million  turquoise 
rings  would  not  console  her  for  the  loss  of  her  gentle 
little  sister. 


CHAPTER  XX 

CONFIDENTIAL 

1 

I  DON’T  think  I  have  any  words  in  which  to  tell 
the  meeting  of  the  mother  and  daughters;  such 
hours  are  beautiful  to  live,  but  very  hard  to 
describe,  so  I  will  leave  it  to  the  imagination  of  my 
readers,  merely  saying  that  the  house  was  full  of  gen¬ 
uine  happiness,  and  that  Meg’s  tender  hope  was  real¬ 
ized  ;  for  when  Beth  woke  from  that  long,  healing  sleep, 
the  first  objects  on  which  her  eyes  fell  were  the  little 
rose  and  mother’s  face.  Too  weak  to  wonder  at  any- 


Little  Women 


248 

thing,  she  only  smiled,  and  nestled  close  into  the 
loving  arms  about  her,  feeling  that  the  hungry  longing 
was  satisfied  at  last.  Then  she  slept  again,  and  the  girls 
waited  upon  their  mother,  for  she  would  not  unclasp  the 
thin  hand  which  clung  to  hers  even  in  sleep. 

Hannah  had  “  dished  up  ”  an  astonishing  breakfast 
for  the  traveller,  finding  it  impossible  to  vent  her  ex¬ 
citement  in  any  other  way;  and  Meg  and  Jo  fed  their 
mother  like  dutiful  young  storks,  while  they  listened  to 
her  whispered  account  of  father’s  state,  Mr.  Brooke’s 
promise  to  stay  and  nurse  him,  the  delays  which  the 
storm  occasioned  on  the  homeward  journey,  and  the 
unspeakable  comfort  Laurie’s  hopeful  face  had  given 
her  when  she  arrived,  worn  out  with  fatigue,  anxiety, 
and  cold. 

What  a  strange,  yet  pleasant  day  that  was !  so  bril¬ 
liant  and  gay  without,  for  all  the  world  seemed  abroad 
to  welcome  the  first  snow;  so  quiet  and  reposeful  within, 
for  every  one  slept,  spent  with  watching,  and  a  Sabbath 
stillness  reigned  through  the  house,  while  nodding 
Hannah  mounted  guard  at  the  door.  With  a  blissful 
sense  of  burdens  lifted  off,  Meg  and  Jo  closed  their  weary 
eyes,  and  lay  at  rest,  like  storm-beaten  boats,  safe  at  an¬ 
chor  in  a  quiet  harbor.  Mrs.  March  would  not  leave  Beth’s 
side,  but  rested  in  the  big  chair,  waking  often  to  look  at, 
touch,  and  brood  over  her  child,  like  a  miser  over  some 
recovered  treasure. 

Laurie,  meanwhile,  posted  off  to  comfort  Amy,  and 
told  his  story  so  well  that  Aunt  March  actually  “  sniffed  ” 
herself,  and  never  once  said,  “  I  told  you  so.”  Amy 
came  out  so  strong  on  this  occasion  that  I  think  the 
good  thoughts  in  the  little  chapel  really  began  to  bear 
fruit.  She  dried  her  tears  quickly,  restrained  her  im¬ 
patience  to  see  her  mother,  and  never  even  thought  of 


Confidential 


249 

I 

the  turquoise  ring,  when  the  old  lady  heartily  agreed  in 
Laurie’s  opinion,  that  she  behaved  “  like  a  capital  little 
woman.”  Even  Polly  seemed  impressed,  for  he  called 
her  “  good  girl,”  blessed  her  buttons,  and  begged  her  to 
“come  and  take  a  walk,  dear,”  in  his  most  affable  tone. 
She  would  very  gladly  have  gone  out  to  enjoy  the  bright 
wintry  weather;  but,  discovering  that  Laurie  was  drop¬ 
ping  with  sleep  in  spite  of  manful  efforts  to  conceal  the 
fact,  she  persuaded  him  to  rest  on  the  sofa,  while  she 
wrote  a  note  to  her  mother.  She  was  a  long  time  about 
it;  and,  when  she  returned,  he  was  stretched  out,  with 
both  arms  under  his  head,  sound  asleep,  while  Aunt 
March  had  pulled  down  the  curtains,  and  sat  doing 
nothing  in  an  unusual  fit  of  benignity. 

After  a  while,  they  began  to  think  he  was  not  going  to 
wake  till  night,  and  I  ’m  not  sure  that  he  would,  had  he 
not  been  effectually  roused  by  Amy’s  cry  of  joy  at  sight 
of  her  mother.  There  probably  were  a  good  many 
happy  little  girls  in  and  about  the  city  that  day,  but  it 
is  my  private  opinion  that  Amy  was  the  happiest  of  all, 
when  she  sat  in  her  mother’s  lap  and  told  her  trials,  re¬ 
ceiving  consolation  and  compensation  in  the  shape  of 
approving  smiles  and  fond  caresses.  They  were  alone 
together  in  the  chapel,  to  which  her  mother  did  not  ob¬ 
ject  when  its  purpose  was  explained  to  her. 

“  On  the  contrary,  I  like  it  very  much,  dear,”  looking 
from  the  dusty  rosary  to  the  well-worn  little  book,  and 
the  lovely  picture  with  its  garland  of  evergreen.  “  It  is 
an  excellent  plan  to  have  some  place  where  we  can  go 
to  be  quiet,  when  things  vex  or  grieve  us.  There  are  a 
good  many  hard  times  in  this  life  of  ours,  but  we  can 
always  bear  them  if  we  ask  help  in  the  right  way.  I 
think  my  little  girl  is  learning  this?” 

“  Yes,  mother;  and  when  I  go  home  I  mean  to  have  a 


Little  Women 


250 

corner  in  the  big  closet  to  put  my  books,  and  the  copy 
of  that  picture  which  I ’ve  tried  to  make.  The  woman’s 
face  is  not  good,  —  it ’s  too  beautiful  for  me  to  draw,  — 
but  the  baby  is  done  better,  and  I  love  it  very  much.  I 
like  to  think  lie  was  a  little  child  once,  for  then  I  don’t 
seem  so  far  away,  and  that  helps  me.” 

As  Amy  pointed  to  the  smiling  Christ-child  on  his 
mother’s  knee,  Mrs.  March  saw  something  on  the  lifted 
hand  that  made  her  smile.  She  said  nothing,  but  Amy 
understood  the  look,  and,  after  a  minute’s  pause,  she 
added  gravely,  — 

“  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  this,  but  I  forgot  it. 
Aunt  gave  me  the  ring  to-day;  she  called  me  to  her  and 
kissed  me,  and  put  it  on  my  finger,  and  said  I  was  a 
credit  to  her,  and  she ’d  like  to  keep  me  always.  She 
gave  that  funny  guard  to  keep  the  turquoise  on,  as  it’s 
too  big.  I  ’d  like  to  wear  them,  mother;  can  I?” 

“  They  are  very  pretty,  but  I  think  you  ’re  rather  too 
young  for  such  ornaments,  Amy,”  said  Mrs.  March, 
looking  at  the  plump  little  hand,  with  the  band  of  sky- 
blue  stones  on  the  forefinger,  and  the  quaint  guard, 
formed  of  two  tiny,  golden  hands  clasped  together. 

“  I  ’ll  try  not  to  be  vain,”  said  Amy.  “  I  don’t  think  I 
like  it  only  because  it’s  so  pretty;  but  I  want  to  wear  it 
as  the  girl  in  the  story  wore  her  bracelet,  to  remind  me 
of  something.” 

“Do  you  mean  Aunt  March?”  asked  her  mother, 
laughing. 

“  No,  to  remind  me  not  to  be  selfish.”  Amy  looked 
so  earnest  and  sincere  about  it,  that  her  mother  stopped 
laughing,  and  listened  respectfully  to  the  little  plan. 

“  I ’ve  thought  a  great  deal  lately  about  my  ‘  bundle 
of  naughties,’  and  being  selfish  is  the  largest  one  in  it; 
so  I ’m  going  to  try  hard  to  cure  it,  if  I  can.  Beth  is  n’t 


Confidential 


251 

selfish,  and  that ’s  the  reason  every  one  loves  her  and 
feels  so  bad  at  the  thoughts  of  losing  her.  People 
would  n’t  feel  half  so  bad  about  me  if  I  was  sick,  and  I 
don’t  deserve  to  have  them  ;  but  I ’d  like  to  be  loved  and 
missed  by  a  great  many  friends,  so  I  ’m  going  to  try  and 
be  like  Beth  all  I  can.  I  ’m  apt  to  forget  my  resolutions  ; 
but  if  I  had  something  always  about  me  to  remind  me,  I 
guess  I  should  do  better.  May  I  try  this  way?” 

“Yes;  but  I  have  more  faith  in  the  corner  of  the  big 
closet.  Wear  your  ring,  dear,  and  do  your  best;  I  think 
you  will  prosper,  for  the  sincere  wish  to  be  good  is  half 
the  battle.  Now  I  must  go  back  to  Beth.  Keep  up 
your  heart,  little  daughter,  and  we  will  soon  have  you 
home  again.” 

That  evening,  while  Meg  was  writing  to  her  father,  to 
report  the  traveller’s  safe  arrival,  Jo  slipped  upstairs  into 
Beth’s  room,  and,  finding  her  mother  in  her  usual  place, 
stood  a  minute  twisting  her  fingers  in  her  hair,  with  a 
worried  gesture  and  an  undecided  look. 

“What  is  it,  deary?”  asked  Mrs.  March,  holding  out 
her  hand,  with  a  face  which  invited  confidence. 

“  I  want  to  tell  you  something,  mother.” 

“  About  Meg?  ” 

“  How  quickly  you  guessed  !  Yes,  it ’s  about  her,  and 
though  it’s  a  little  thing,  it  fidgets  me.” 

“  Beth  is  asleep  ;  speak  low,  and  tell  me  all  about  it. 
That  Moffat  hasn’t  been  here,  I  hope?”  asked  Mrs. 
March  rather  sharply. 

“  No,  I  should  have  shut  the  door  in  his  face  if  he 
had,”  said  Jo,  settling  herself  on  the  floor  at  her  mother’s 
feet.  “  Last  summer  Meg  left  a  pair  of  gloves  over  at 
the  Laurences’,  and  only  one  was  returned.  We  forgot 
all  about  it,  till  Teddy  told  me  that  Mr.  Brooke  had  it. 
He  kept  it  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  once  it  fell  out, 


Little  Women 


252 

and  Teddy  joked  him  about  it,  and  Mr.  Brooke  owned 
that  he  liked  Meg,  but  did  n’t  dare  say  so,  she  was  so 
young  and  he  so  poor.  Now,  isn’t  it  a  dreadful  state 
of  things  ?  ” 

“Do  you  think  Meg  cares  for  him?”  asked  Mrs. 
March,  with  an  anxious  look. 

“  Mercy  me  !  I  don’t  know  anything  about  love  and 
such  nonsense!”  cried  Jo,  with  a  funny  mixture  of  in¬ 
terest  and  contempt.  “  In  novels,  the  girls  show  it  by 
starting  and  blushing,  fainting  away,  growing  thin,  and 
acting  like  fools.  Now  Meg  does  not  do  anything  of 
the  sort:  she  eats  and  drinks  and  sleeps,  like  a  sensible 
creature ;  she  looks  straight  in  my  face  when  I  talk 
about  that  man,  and  only  blushes  a  little  bit  when  Teddy 
jokes  about  lovers.  I  forbid  him  to  do  it,  but  he  does  n’t 
mind  me  as  he  ought.” 

“  Then  you  fancy  that  Meg  is  not  interested  in  John?  ” 

“  Who?”  cried  Jo,  staring. 

“Mr.  Brooke.  I  call  him  ‘John’  now;  we  fell  into 
the  way  of  doing  so  at  the  hospital,  and  he  likes  it.” 

“  Oh,  dear  !  I  know  you  ’ll  take  his  part:  he  ’s  been 
good  to  father,  and  you  won’t  send  him  away,  but  let 
Meg  marry  him,  if  she  wants  to.  Mean  thing !  to  go 
petting  papa  and  helping  you,  just  to  wheedle  you  into 
liking  him;  ”  and  Jo  pulled  her  hair  again  with  a  wrath¬ 
ful  tweak. 

“  My  dear,  don’t  get  angry  about  it,  and  I  will  tell  you 
how  it  happened.  John  went  with  me  at  Mr.  Laurence’s 
request,  and  was  so  devoted  to  poor  father  that  we 
could  n’t  help  getting  fond  of  him.  He  was  perfectly  open 
and  honorable  about  Meg,  for  he  told  us  he  loved  her, 
but  would  earn  a  comfortable  home  before  he  asked 
her  to  marry  him.  He  only  wanted  our  leave  to  love 
her  and  work  for  her,  and  the  right  to  make  her  love 


Confidential 


253 

him  if  he  could.  He  is  a  truly  excellent  young  man, 
and  we  could  not  refuse  to  listen  to  him ;  but  I  will  not 
consent  to  Meg’s  engaging  herself  so  young.” 

“Of  course  not;  it  would  be  idiotic!  I  knew  there 
was  mischief  brewing ;  I  felt  it ;  and  now  it ’s  worse  than 
I  imagined.  I  just  wish  I  could  marry  Meg  myself, 
and  keep  her  safe  in  the  family.” 

This  odd  arrangement  made  Mrs.  March  smile;  but 
she  said  gravely,  “Jo,  I  confide  in  you,  and  don’t  wish 
you  to  say  anything  to  Meg  yet.  When  John  comes 
back,  and  I  see  them  together,  I  can  judge  better  of  her 
feelings  toward  him.” 

“  She  ’ll  see  his  in  those  handsome  eyes  that  she  talks 
about,  and  then  it  will  be  all  up  with  her.  She ’s  got 
such  a  soft  heart,  it  will  melt  like  butter  in  the  sun  if  any 
one  looks  sentimentally  at  her.  •  She  read  the  short 
reports  he  sent  more  than  she  did  your  letters,  and 
pinched  me  when  I  spoke  of  it,  and  likes  brown  eyes, 
and  does  n’t  think  John  an  ugly  name,  and  she  ’ll  go  and 
fall  in  love,  and  there ’s  an  end  of  peace  and  fun,  and 
cosey  times  together.  I  see  it  all !  they  ’ll  go  lovering 
around  the  house,  and  we  shall  have  to  dodge ;  Meg 
will  be  absorbed,  and  no  good  to  me  any  more ;  Brooke 
will  scratch  up  a  fortune  somehow,  carry  her  off,  and 
make  a  hole  in  the  family ;  and  I  shall  break  my  heart, 
and  everything  will  be  abominably  uncomfortable.  Oh, 
dear  me  !  why  were  n’t  we  all  boys,  then  there  would  n’t 
be  any  bother.” 

Jo  leaned  her  chin  on  her  knees,  in  a  disconsolate 
attitude,  and  shook  her  fist  at  the  reprehensible  John. 
Mrs.  March  sighed,  and  Jo  looked  up  with  an  air  of 
relief. 

“You  don’t  like  it,  mother?  I’m  glad  of  it.  Let’s 
send  him  about  his  business,  and  not  tell  Meg  a  word 


254  Little  Women 

of  it,  but  all  be  happy  together  as  we  always  have 
been.” 

“  I  did  wrong  to  sigh,  Jo.  It  is  natural  and  right  you 
should  all  go  to  homes  of  your  own,  in  time ;  but  I  do 
want  to  keep  my  girls  as  long  as  I  can ;  and  I  am  sorry 
that  this  happened  so  soon,  for  Meg  is  only  seventeen, 
and  it  will  be  some  years  before  John  can  make  a  home 
for  her.  Your  father  and  I  have  agreed  that  she  shall 
not  bind  herself  in  any  way,  nor  be  married,  before 
twenty.  If  she  and  John  love  one  another,  they  can  wait, 
and  test  the  love  by  doing  so.  She  is  conscientious,  and 
I  have  no  fear  of  her  treating  him  unkindly.  My  pretty,  , 
tender-hearted  girl !  I  hope  things  will  go  happily  with 
her.” 

“Hadn’t  you  rather  have  her  marry  a  rich  man?” 
asked  Jo,  as  her  mother’s  voice  faltered  a  little  over  the 
last  words. 

“  Money  is  a  good  and  useful  thing,  Jo;  and  I  hope 
my  girls  will  never  feel  the  need  of  it  too  bitterly,  nor 
be  tempted  by  too  much.  I  should  like  to  know  that 
John  was  firmly  established  in  some  good  business,  which 
gave  him  an  income  large  enough  to  keep  free  from  debt 
and  make  Meg  comfortable.  I ’m  not  ambitious  for  a 
splendid  fortune,  a  fashionable  position,  or  a  great  name 
for  my  girls.  If  rank  and  money  come  with  love  and 
virtue,  also,  I  should  accept  them  gratefully,  and  enjoy 
your  good  fortune;  but  I  know,  by  experience,  how 
much  genuine  happiness  can  be  had  in  a  plain  little 
house,  where  the  daily  bread  is  earned,  and  some  priva¬ 
tions  give  sweetness  to  the  few  pleasures.  I  am  content 
to  see  Meg  begin  humbly,  for,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  she 
will  be  rich  in  the  possession  of  a  good  man’s  heart,  and 
that  is  better  than  a  fortune.” 

“  I  understand,  mother,  and  quite  agree ;  but  I  ’m  dis- 


Confidential 


2  55 

appointed  about  Meg,  for  I ’d  planned  to  have  her 
marry  Teddy  by  and  by,  and  sit  in  the  lap  of  luxury  all 
her  days.  Would  n’t  it  be  nice?  ”  asked  Jo,  looking  up, 
with  a  brighter  face. 

“  He  is  younger  than  she,  you  know,”  began  Mrs. 
March  ;  but  Jo  broke  in,  — 

“  Only  a  little ;  he ’s  old  for  his  age,  and  tall ;  and 
can  be  quite  grown-up  in  his  manners  if  he  likes.  Then 
he’s  rich  and  generous  and  good,  and  loves  us  all;  and 
/  say  it ’s  a  pity  my  plan  is  spoilt.” 

“  I ’m  afraid  Laurie  is  hardly  grown  up  enough  for 
Meg,  and  altogether  too  much  of  a  weathercock,  just  now, 
for  any  one  to  depend  on.  Don’t  make  plans,  Jo;  but 
let  time  and  their  own  hearts  mate  your  friends.  We 
can’t  meddle  safely  in  such  matters,  and  had  better  not 
get  ‘  romantic  rubbish,’  as  you  call  it,  into  our  heads, 
lest  it  spoil  our  friendship.” 

“Well,  I  won’t;  but  I  hate  to  see  things  going  all 
criss-cross  and  getting  snarled  up,  when  a  pull  here  and 
a  snip  there  would  straighten  it  out.  I  wish  wearing 
flat-irons  on  our  heads  would  keep  us  from  growing  up. 
But  buds  will  be  roses,  and  kittens,  cats,  — •  more ’s  the 
pity !  ” 

“What’s  that  about  flat-irons  and  cats?  ”  asked  Meg, 
as  she  crept  into  the  room,  with  the  finished  letter  in 
her  hand. 

“  Only  one  of  my  stupid  speeches.  I ’m  going  to 
bed;  come,  Peggy,”  said  Jo,  unfolding  herself,  like  an 
animated  puzzle. 

“  Quite  right,  and  beautifully  written.  Please  add 
that  I  send  my  love  to  John,”  said  Mrs.  March,  as  she 
glanced  over  the  letter,  and  gave  it  back. 

“  Do  you  call  him  ‘  John  ’  ?  ”  asked  Meg,  smiling,  with 
her  innocent  eyes  looking  down  into  her  mother’s. 


Little  Women 


256 

“Yes;  he  has  been  like  a  son  to  us,  and  we  are  very 
fond  of  him,”  replied  Mrs.  March,  returning  the  look 
with  a  keen  one. 

“  I ’m  glad  of  that,  he  is  so  lonely.  Good-night, 
mother,  dear.  It  is  so  inexpressibly  comfortable  to  have 
you  here,”  was  Meg’s  quiet  answer. 

The  kiss  her  mother  gave  her  was  a  very  tender  one ; 
and,  as  she  went  away,  Mrs.  March  said,  with  a  mixture 
of  satisfaction  and  regret,  “  She  does  not  love  John  yet, 
but  will  soon  learn  to.” 


CHAPTER  XXI 


LAURIE  MAKES  MISCHIEF,  AND  JO  MAKES  PEACE 

O’S  face  was  a  study  next  day,  for  the  secret  rather 
weighed  upon  her,  and  she  found  it  hard  not  to 
olF  look  mysterious  and  important.  Meg  observed  it, 
but  did  not  trouble  herself  to  make  inquiries,  for  she 
had  learned  that  the  best  way  to  manage  Jo  was  by  the 
law  of  contraries,  so  she  felt  sure  of  being  told  every¬ 
thing  if  she  did  not  ask.  She  was  rather  surprised, 
therefore,  when  the  silence  remained  unbroken,  and  Jo 
assumed  a  patronizing  air,  which  decidedly  aggravated 
Meg,  who  in  her  turn  assumed  an  air  of  dignified  reserve, 
and  devoted  herself  to  her  mother.  This  left  Jo  to  her 
own  devices ;  for  Mrs.  March  had  taken  her  place  as 
nurse,  and  bade  her  rest,  exercise,  and  amuse  herself 
after  her  long  confinement.  Amy  being  gone,  Laurie 
was  her  only  refuge;  and,  much  as  she  enjoyed  his 
society,  she  rather  dreaded  him  just  then,  for  he  was  an 
incorrigible  tease,  and  she  feared  he  would  coax  her 
secret  from  her. 


Laurie  Makes  Mischief  257 

She  was  quite  right;  for  the  mischief-loving  lad  no 
sooner  suspected  a  mystery  than  he  set  himself  to  find 
it  out,  and  led  Jo  a  trying  life  of  it.  He  wheedled, 
bribed,  ridiculed,  threatened,  and  scolded;  affected  in¬ 
difference,  that  he  might  surprise  the  truth  from  her; 
declared  he  knew,  then  that  he  did  n’t  care ;  and,  at 
last,  by  dint  of  perseverance,  he  satisfied  himself  that  it 
concerned  Meg  and  Mr.  Brooke.  Feeling  indignant 
that  he  was  not  taken  into  his  tutor’s  confidence,  he  set 
his  wits  to  work  to  devise  some  proper  retaliation  for 
the  slight. 

Meg  meanwhile  had  apparently  forgotten  the  matter, 
and  was  absorbed  in  preparations  for  her  father’s  re¬ 
turn  ;  but  all  of  a  sudden  a  change  seemed  to  come 
over  her,  and,  for  a  day  or  two,  she  was  quite  unlike 
herself.  She  started  when  spoken  to,  blushed  when 
looked  at,  was  very  quiet,  and  sat  over  her  sewing,  with 
a  timid,  troubled  look  on  her  face.  To  her  mother’s 
inquiries  she  answered  that  she  was  quite  well,  and  Jo’s 
she  silenced  by  begging  to  be  let  alone. 

“  She  feels  it  in  the  air — love,  I  mean  —  and  she ’s 
going  very  fast.  She ’s  got  most  of  the  symptoms,  —  is 
twittery  and  cross,  does  n’t  eat,  lies  awake,  and  mopes 
in  corners.  I  caught  her  singing  that  song  he  gave  her, 
and  once  she  said  ‘John,’  as  you  do,  and  then  turned  as 
red  as  a  poppy.  Whatever  shall  we  do?”  said  Jo, 
looking  ready  for  any  measures,  however  violent. 

“  Nothing  but  wait.  Let  her  alone,  be  kind  and 
patient,  and  father’s  coming  will  settle  everything,” 
replied  her  mother. 

“  Here ’s  a  note  to  you,  Meg,  all  sealed  up.  How 
odd  !  Teddy  never  seals  mine,”  said  Jo,  next  day,  as 
she  distributed  the  contents  of  the  little  post-office. 

Mrs.  March  and  Jo  were  deep  in  their  own  affairs, 

17 


258  Little  Women 

when  a  sound  from  Meg  made  them  look  up  to  see  her 
staring  at  her  note,  with  a  frightened  face. 

“  My  child,  what  is  it?”  cried  her  mother,  running  to 
her,  while  Jo  tried  to  take  the  paper  which  had  done 
the  mischief. 

“  It ’s  all  a  mistake  —  he  did  n’t  send  it.  O  Jo,  how 
could  you  do  it?”  and  Meg  hid  her  face  in  her  hands, 
crying  as  if  her  heart  was  quite  broken. 

“Me!  I’ve  done  nothing  1  What’s  she  talking 
about?”  cried  Jo,  bewildered. 

Meg’s  mild  eyes  kindled  with  anger  as  she  pulled  a 
crumpled  note  from  her  pocket,  and  threw  it  at  Jo,  say¬ 
ing  reproachfully,  — • 

“  You  wrote  it,  and  that  bad  boy  helped  you.  How 
could  you  be  so  rude,  so  mean,  and  cruel  to  us  both?” 

Jo  hardly  heard  her,  for  she  and  her  mother  were 
reading  the  note,  which  was  written  in  a  peculiar  hand. 

“  My  Dearest  Margaret,  — 

“  I  can  no  longer  restrain  my  passion,  and  must  know  my 
fate  before  I  return.  I  dare  not  tell  your  parents  yet,  but  I 
think  they  would  consent  if  they  knew  that  we  adored  one 
another.  Mr.  Laurence  will  help  me  to  some  good  place,  and 
then,  my  sweet  girl,  you  will  make  me  happy.  I  implore  you 
to  say  nothing  to  your  family  yet,  but  to  send  one  word  of  hope 
through  Laurie  to 

“  Your  devoted  John.” 

“  Oh,  the  little  villain  !  that ’s  the  way  he  meant  to 
pay  me  for  keeping  my  word  to  mother.  I  ’ll  give 
him  a  hearty  scolding,  and  bring  him  over  to  beg  par¬ 
don,”  cried  Jo,  burning  to  execute  immediate  justice. 
But  her  mother  held  her  back,  saying,  with  a  look  she 
seldom  wore,  — 

“  Stop,  Jo,  you  must  clear  yourself  first.  You  have 


Laurie  Makes  Mischief  259 

played  so  many  pranks,  that  I  am  afraid  you  have  had 
a  hand  in  this.” 

“  On  my  word,  mother,  I  have  n’t !  I  never  saw  that 
note  before,  and  don’t  know  anything  about  it,  as  true 
as  I  live  !  ”  said  Jo,  so  earnestly  that  they  believed  her. 
“  If  I  had  taken  a  part  in  it  I ’d  have  done  it  better  than 
r  this,  and  have  written  a  sensible  note.  I  should  think 
you ’d  have  known  Mr.  Brooke  would  n’t  write  such  stuff 
as  that,”  she  added,  scornfully  tossing  down  the  paper. 

“It’s  like  his  writing,”  faltered  Meg,  comparing  it 
with  the  note  in  her  hand. 

“  O  Meg,  you  did  n’t  answer  it?”  cried  Mrs.  March 
quickly. 

“  Yes,  I  did  !  ”  and  Meg  hid  her  face  again,  overcome 
with  shame. 

“  Here ’s  a  scrape  !  Do  let  me  bring  that  wicked  boy 
over  to  explain,  and  be  lectured.  I  can’t  rest  till  I  get 
hold  of  him ;  ”  and  Jo  made  for  the  door  again. 

“  Hush  !  let  me  manage  this,  for  it  is  worse  than  I 
thought.  Margaret,  tell  me  the  whole  story,”  com¬ 
manded  Mrs.  March,  sitting  down  by  Meg,  yet  keeping 
hold  of  Jo,  lest  she  should  fly  off. 

“  I  received  the  first  letter  from  Laurie,  who  did  n’t 
look  as  if  he  knew  anything  about  it,”  began  Meg,  with¬ 
out  looking  up.  “  I  was  worried  at  first,  and  meant  to 
tell  you  ;  then  I  remembered  how  you  liked  Mr.  Brooke, 
so  I  thought  you  would  n’t  mind  if  I  kept  my  little 
secret  for  a  few  days.  I ’m  so  silly  that  I  liked  to  think 
no  one  knew;  and,  while  I  was  deciding  what  to  say,  I 
felt  like  the  girls  in  books,  who  have  such  things  to  do. 
Forgive  me,  mother,  I’m  paid  for  my  silliness  now;  I 
never  can  look  him  in  the  face  again.” 

“  What  did  you  say  to  him?  ”  asked  Mrs.  March. 

“  I  only  said  I  was  too  young  to  do  anything  about  it 


260 


Little  Women 


yet;  that  I  did  n’t  wish  to  have  secrets  from  you,  and 
he  must  speak  to  father.  I  was  very  grateful  for  his 
kindness,  and  would  be  his  friend,  but  nothing  more,  for 
a  long  while.” 

Mrs.  March  smiled,  as  if  well  pleased,  and  Jo  clapped 
her  hands,  exclaiming,  with  a  laugh,  — 

“You  are  almost  e^qual  to  Caroline  Percy,  who  was  a 
pattern  of  prudence  !  Tell  on,  Meg.  What  did  he  say 
to  that? ” 

“  He  writes  in  a  different  way  entirely,  telling  me  that 
he  never  sent  any  love-letter  at  all,  and  is  very  sorry 
that  my  roguish  sister,  Jo,  should  take  such  liberties  with 
our  names.  It’s  very  kind  and  respectful,  but  think 
how  dreadful  for  me  !  ” 

Meg  leaned  against  her  mother,  looking  the  image  of 
despair,  and  Jo  tramped  about  the  room,  calling  Laurie 
names.  All  of  a  sudden  she  stopped,  caught  up  the 
two  notes,  and,  after  looking  at  them  closely,  said  de¬ 
cidedly,  “  I  don’t  believe  Brooke  ever  saw  either  of 
these  letters.  Teddy  wrote  both,  and  keeps  yours  to 
crow  over  me  with,  because  I  would  n’t  tell  him  my 
secret.” 

“  Don’t  have  any  secrets,  Jo ;  tell  it  to  mother,  and 
keep  out  of  trouble,  as  I  should  have  done,”  said  Meg 
warningly. 

“  Bless  you,  child  !  Mother  told  me.” 

“  That  will  do,  Jo.  I  ’ll  comfort  Meg  while  you  go 
and  get  Laurie.  I  shall  sift  the  matter  to  the  bottom, 
and  put  a  stop  to  such  pranks  at  once.” 

Away  ran  Jo,  and  Mrs.  March  gently  told  Meg  Mr. 
Brooke’s  real  feelings.  “Now,  dear,  what  are  your 
own?  Do  you  love  him  enough  to  wait  till  he  can 
make  a  home  for  you,  or  will  you  keep  yourself  quite 
free  for  the  present?” 


Laurie  Makes  Mischief  261 

“  I  ’ve  been  so  scared  and  worried,  I  don’t  want  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  lovers  for  a  long  while,  —  per¬ 
haps  never,”  answered  Meg  petulantly.  “  If  John  doesn't 
know  anything  about  this  nonsense,  don’t  tell  him,  and 
make  Jo  and  Laurie  hold  their  tongues.  I  won’t  be 
deceived  and  plagued  and  made  a  fool  of,  —  it ’s  a 
shame  !  ” 

Seeing  that  Meg’s  usually  gentle  temper  was  roused 
and  her  pride  hurt  by  this  mischievous  joke,  Mrs.  March 
soothed  her  by  promises  of  entire  silence,  and  great 
discretion  for  the  future.  The  instant  Laurie’s  step  was 
heard  in  the  hall,  Meg  fled  into  the  study,  and  Mrs. 
March  received  the  culprit  alone.  Jo  had  not  told  him 
why  he  was  wanted,  fearing  he  would  n’t  come ;  but  he 
knew  the  minute  he  saw  Mrs.  March’s  face,  and  stood 
twirling  his  hat,  with  a  guilty  air  which  convicted  him  at 
once.  Jo  was  dismissed,  but  chose  to  march  up  and 
down  the  hall  like  a  sentinel,  having  some  fear  that  the 
prisoner  might  bolt.  The  sound  of  voices  in  the  parlor 
rose  and  fell  for  half  an  hour;  but  what  happened 
during  that  interview  the  girls  never  knew. 

When  they  were  called  in,  Laurie  was  standing  by 
their  mother,  with  such  a  penitent  face  that  Jo  forgave 
him  on  the  spot,  but  did  not  think  it  wise  to  betray  the 
fact.  Meg  received  his  humble  apology,  and  was  much 
comforted  by  the  assurance  that  Brooke  knew  nothing 
of  the  joke. 

“  I  ’ll  never  tell  him  to  my  dying  day,  —  wild  horses 
sha’n’t  drag  it  out  of  me;  so  you’ll  forgive  me,  Meg, 
and  I  ’ll  do  anything  to  show  how  out-and-out  sorry 
I  am,”  he  added,  looking  very  much  ashamed  of 
himself. 

“I’ll  try;  but  it  was  a  very  ungentlemanly  thing  to 
do.  I  did  n’t  think  you  could  be  so  sly  and  maliciousg 


262 


Little  Women 


Laurie,”  replied  Meg,  trying  to  hide  her  maidenly  con* 
fusion  under  a  gravely  reproachful  air. 

“  It  was  altogether  abominable,  and  I  don’t  deserve  to 
be  spoken  to  for  a  month ;  but  you  will,  though,  won’t 
you?”  and  Laurie  folded  his  hands  together  with  such 
an  imploring  gesture,  as  he  spoke  in  his  irresistibly  per¬ 
suasive  tone,  that  it  was  impossible  to  frown  upon  him, 
in  spite  of  his  scandalous  behavior.  Meg  pardoned  him, 
and  Mrs.  March’s  grave  face  relaxed,  in  spite  of  her 
efforts  to  keep  sober,  when  she  heard  him  declare  that 
he  would  atone  for  his  sins  by  all  sorts  of  penances,  and 
abase  himself  like  a  worm  before  the  injured  damsel. 

Jo  stood  aloof,  meanwhile,  trying  to  harden  her  heart 
against  him,  and  succeeding  only  in  primming  up  her 
face  into  an  expression  of  entire  disapprobation.  Laurie 
looked  at  her  once  or  twice,  but,  as  she  showed  no  sign 
of  relenting,  he  felt  injured,  and  turned  his  back  on  her 
till  the  others  were  done  with  him,  when  he  made  her  a 
low  bow,  and  walked  off  without  a  word. 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  she  wished  she  had  been 
more  forgiving;  and  when  Meg  and  her  mother  went 
upstairs,  she  felt  lonely,  and  longed  for  Teddy.  After 
resisting  for  some  time,  she  yielded  to  the  impulse,  and, 
armed  with  a  book  to  return,  went  over  to  the  big 
house. 

“  Is  Mr.  Laurence  in?”  asked  Jo,  of  a  housemaid, 
who  was  coming  downstairs. 

“  Yes,  miss  ;  but  I  don’t  believe  he  ’s  seeable  just  yet.” 

“  Why  not?  is  he  ill?  ” 

“  La,  no,  miss,  but  he  ’s  had  a  scene  with  Mr.  Laurie, 
who  is  in  one  of  his  tantrums  about  something,  which 
vexes  the  old  gentleman,  so  I  dursn’t  go  nigh  him.” 

“  Where  is  Laurie?  ” 

Shut  up  in  his  room,  and  he  won’t  answer,  though 


Laurie  Makes  Mischief  263 

I ’ve  been  a-tapping.  I  don’t  know  what ’s  to  become 
of  the  dinner,  for  it ’s  ready,  and  there ’s  no  one  to 
eat  it.” 

“  I  ’ll  go  and  see  what  the  matter  is.  I ’m  not  afraid 
of  either  of  them.” 

Up  went  Jo,  and  knocked  smartly  on  the  door  of 
Laurie’s  little  study. 

“  Stop  that,  or  I  ’ll  open  the  door  and  make  you  !  ” 
called  out  the  young  gentleman,  in  a  threatening  tone. 

Jo  immediately  knocked  again;  the  door  flew  open, 
and  in  she  bounced,  before  Laurie  could  recover  from 
his  surprise.  Seeing  that  he  really  was  out  of  temper, 
Jo,  who  knew  how  to  manage  him,  assumed  a  contrite 
expression,  and  going  artistically  down  upon  her  knees, 
said  meekly,  “  Please  forgive  me  for  being  so  cross.  I 
came  to  make  it  up,  and  can’t  go  away  till  I  have.” 

“It’s  all  right.  Get  up,  and  don’t  be  a  goose,  Jo,” 
was  the  cavalier  reply  to  her  petition. 

“  Thank  you  ;  I  will.  Could  I  ask  what ’s  the  matter? 
You  don’t  look  exactly  easy  in  your  mind.” 

“  I ’ve  been  shaken,  and  I  won’t  bear  it !  ”  growled 
Laurie  indignantly. 

“  Who  did  it?  ”  demanded  Jo. 

“  Grandfather ;  if  it  had  been  any  one  else  I ’d 
have — ”  and  the  injured  youth  finished  his  sentence 
by  an  energetic  gesture  of  the  right  arm. 

“  That ’s  nothing ;  I  often  shake  you,  and  you  don’t 
mind,”  said  Jo  soothingly. 

“  Pooh  !  you  ’re  a  girl,  and  it ’s  fun ;  but  I  ’ll  allow  no 
man  to  shake  me .” 

“  I  don’t  think  any  one  would  care  to  try  it,  if  you 
looked  as  much  like  a  thunder-cloud  as  you  do  now. 
Why  were  you  treated  so?” 

“Just  because  I  would  n’t  say  what  your  mother  wanted 


Little  Women 


2  64 

me  for.  I  ’d  promised  not  to  tell,  and  of  course  I  was  n’t 
going  to  break  my  word.” 

“  Could  n’t  you  satisfy  your  grandpa  in  any  other 
way? 

“No;  he  would  have  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth.  I ’d  have  told  my  part  of  the 
scrape,  if  I  could  without  bringing  Meg  in.  As  I 
could  n’t,  I  held  my  tongue,  and  bore  the  scolding  till 
the  old  gentleman  collared  me.  Then  I  got  angry,  and 
bolted,  for  fear  I  should  forget  myself.” 

“  It  was  n’t  nice,  but  he ’s  sorry,  I  know;  so  go  down 
and  make  up.  I  ’ll  help  you.” 

“  Hanged  if  I  do  !  I’m  not  going  to  be  lectured  and 
pummelled  by  every  one,  just  for  a  bit  of  a  frolic.  I  was 
sorry  about  Meg,  and  begged  pardon  like  a  man;  but  I 
won’t  do  it  again,  when  I  was  n’t  in  the  wrong.” 

“  He  did  n’t  know  that.” 

“  He  ought  to  trust  me,  and  not  act  as  if  I  was  a  baby. 
It’s  no  use,  Jo;  he  ’s  got  to  learn  that  I ’m  able  to  take 
care  of  myself,  and  don’t  need  any  one’s  apron-string  to 
hold  on  by.” 

“  What  pepper-pots  you  are  !  ”  sighed  Jo.  “  How  do 
you  mean  to  settle  this  affair?” 

“  Well,  he  ought  to  beg  pardon,  and  believe  me  when 
I  say  I  can’t  tell  him  what  the  fuss ’s  about.” 

“  Bless  you  !  he  wont  do  that.” 

“  I  won’t  go  down  till  he  does.” 

“Now,  Teddy,  be  sensible;  let  it  pass,  and  I’ll  ex^ 
plain  what  I  can.  You  can’t  stay  here,  so  what’s  the 
use  of  being  melodramatic?” 

“  I  don’t  intend  to  stay  here  long,  any  way.  I  ’ll  slip 
off  and  take  a  journey  somewhere,  and  when  grandpa 
misses  me  he  ’ll  come  round  fast  enough.” 

“  I  dare  say ;  but  you  ought  not  to  go  and  worry  him.” 


Laurie  Makes  Mischief  265 

“  Don’t  preach.  I  ’ll  go  to  Washington  and  see 
Brooke;  it’s  gay  there,  and  I  ’ll  enjoy  myself  after  the 
troubles.” 

“  What  fun  you ’d  have  !  I  wish  I  could  run  off  too,” 
said  Jo,  forgetting  her  part  of  Mentor  in  lively  visions 
of  martial  life  at  the  capital. 

“Come  on,  then!  Why  not?  You  go  and  surprise 
your  father,  and  I  ’ll  stir  up  old  Brooke.  It  would  be  a 
glorious  joke  ;  let ’s  do  it,  Jo.  We  ’ll  leave  a  letter  say¬ 
ing  we  are  all  right,  and  trot  off  at  once.  I ’ve  got 
money  enough ;  it  will  do  you  good,  and  be  no  harm, 
as  you  go  to  your  father.” 

For  a  moment  Jo  looked  as  if  she  would  agree;  for, 
wild  as  the  plan  was,  it  just  suited  her.  She  was 
tired  of  care  and  confinement,  longed  for  change,  and 
thoughts  of  her  father  blended  temptingly  with  the 
novel  charms  of  camps  and  hospitals,  liberty  and  fun. 
Her  eyes  kindled  as  they  turned  wistfully  toward  the 
window,  but  they  fell  on  the  old  house  opposite,  and 
she  shook  her  head  with  sorrowful  decision. 

“  If  I  was  a  boy,  we ’d  run  away  together,  and  have  a 
capital  time ;  but  as  I  ’m  a  miserable  girl,  I  must  be 
proper,  and  stop  at  home.  Don’t  tempt  me,  Teddy,  it’s 
a  crazy  plan.” 

“That’s  the  fun  of  it,”  began  Laurie,  who  had  got  a 
wilful  fit  on  him,  and  was  possessed  to  break  out  of 
bounds  in  some  way. 

“Hold  your  tongue!”  cried  Jo,  covering  her  ears. 
“  ‘  Prunes  and  prisms  ’  are  my  doom,  and  I  may  as  well 
make  up  my  mind  to  it.  I  came  here  to  moralize,  not 
to  hear  about  things  that  make  me  skip  to  think  of.” 

“  I  know  Meg  would  wet-blanket  such  a  proposal,  but 
I  thought  you  had  more  spirit,”  began  Laurie  insinu- 


266 


Little  Women 


“Bad  boy,  be  quiet!  Sit  down  and  think  of  your 
own  sins,  don’t  go  making  me  add  to  mine.  If  I  get 
your  grandpa  to  apologize  for  the  shaking,  will  you 
give  up  running  away?”  asked  Jo  seriously. 

“  Yes,  but  you  won’t  do  it,”  answered  Laurie,  who 
wished  “  to  make  up,”  but  felt  that  his  outraged  dignity 
must  be  appeased  first. 

“  If  I  can  manage  the  young  one  I  can  the  old  one,” 
muttered  Jo,  as  she  walked  away,  leaving  Laurie  bent 
over  a  railroad  map,  with  his  head  propped  up  on  both 
hands. 

“  Come  in  !  ”  and  Mr.  Laurence’s  gruff  voice  sounded 
gruffer  than  ever,  as  Jo  tapped  at  his  door. 

“  It ’s  only  me,  sir,  come  to  return  a  book,”  she  said 
blandly,  as  she  entered. 

“  Want  any  more?  ”  asked  the  old  gentleman,  looking 
grim  and  vexed,  but  trying  not  to  show  it. 

“  Yes,  please.  I  like  old  Sam  so  well,  I  think  I  ’ll  try 
the  second  volume,”  returned  Jo,  hoping  to  propitiate 
him  by  accepting  a  second  dose  of  Boswell’s  “Johnson,” 
as  he  had  recommended  that  lively  work. 

The  shaggy  eyebrows  unbent  a  little,  as  he  rolled  the 
steps  toward  the  shelf  where  the  Johnsonian  literature  was 
placed.  Jo  skipped  up,  and,  sitting  on  the  top  step, 
affected  to  be  searching  for  her  book,  but  was  really  won¬ 
dering  how  best  to  introduce  the  dangerous  object  of  her 
visit.  Mr.  Laurence  seemed  to  suspect  that  something 
was  brewing  in  her  mind ;  for,  after  taking  several  brisk 
turns  about  the  room,  he  faced  round  on  her,  speaking 
so  abruptly  that  “  Rasselas  ”  tumbled  face  downward  on 
the  floor. 

“What  has  that  boy  been  about?  Don’t  try  to  shield 
him.  I  know  he  has  been  in  mischief  by  the  way  he 
acted  when  he  came  home.  I  can’t  get  a  word  from 


Laurie  Makes  Mischief  267 

him ;  and  when  I  threatened  to  shake  the  truth  out  of 
him  he  bolted  upstairs,  and  locked  himself  into  his  room.” 

“  He  did  do  wrong,  but  we  forgave  him,  and  all  prom¬ 
ised  not  to  say  a  word  to  any  one,”  began  Jo  reluctantly. 

“  That  won’t  do  ;  he  shall  not  shelter  himself  behind 
a  promise  from  you  soft-hearted  girls.  It  he  s  done  any¬ 
thing  amiss,  he  shall  confess,  beg  pardon,  and  be  pun¬ 
ished.  Out  with  it,  Jo,  I  won’t  be  kept  in  the  dark. 

Mr.  Laurence  looked  so  alarming  and  spoke  so  sharply 
that  Jo  would  have  gladly  run  away,  if  she  could,  but  she 
was  perched  aloft  on  the  steps,  and  he  stood  at  the  foot, 
a  lion  in  the  path,  so  she  had  to  stay  and  brave  it  out. 

“  Indeed,  sir,  I  cannot  tell ;  mother  forbade  it.  Laurie 
has  confessed,  asked  pardon,  and  been  punished  quite 
enough.  We  don’t  keep  silence  to  shield  him,  but  some 
one  else,  and  it  will  make  more  trouble  if  you  interfere. 
Please  don’t ;  it  was  partly  my  fault,  but  it ’s  all  right  now ; 
so  let’s  forget  it,  and  talk  about  the  ‘  Rambler,’  or  some¬ 
thing  pleasant.” 

“  Hang  the  ‘  Rambler !  *  come  down  and  give  me  your 
word  that  this  harum-scarum  boy  of  mine  has  n’t  done 
anything  ungrateful  or  impertinent.  If  he  has,  after  all 
your  kindness  to  him,  I  ’ll  thrash  him  with  my  own 
hands.” 

The  threat  sounded  awful,  but  did  not  alarm  Jo,  for  she 
knew  the  irascible  old  gentleman  would  never  lift  a  finger 
against  his  grandson,  whatever  he  might  say  to  the  con¬ 
trary.  She  obediently  descended,  and  made  as  light  of 
the  prank  as  she  could  without  betraying  Meg  or  forget¬ 
ting  the  truth. 

“  Hum  —  ha  —  well,  if  the  boy  held  his  tongue  because 
he  promised,  and  not  from  obstinacy,  I  ’ll  forgive  him. 
He ’s  a  stubborn  fellow,  and  hard  to  manage,”  said  Mr. 
Laurence,  rubbing  up  his  hair  till  it  looked  as  if  he  had 


268 


Little  Women 


been  out  in  a  gale,  and  smoothing  the  frown  from  his 
brow  with  an  air  of  relief. 

“  So  am  I ;  but  a  kind  word  will  govern  me  when  all 
the  king’s  horses  and  all  the  king’s  men  could  n’t,”  said 
Jo,  trying  to  say  a  kind  word  for  her  friend,  who  seemed 
to  get  out  of  one  scrape  only  to  fall  into  another. 

“You  think  I’m  not  kind  to  him,  hey?”  was  the 
sharp  answer. 

“  Oh,  dear,  no,  sir ;  you  are  rather  too  kind  sometimes, 
and  then  just  a  trifle  hasty  when  he  tries  your  patience. 
Don’t  you  think  you  are?  ” 

Jo  was  determined  to  have  it  out  now,  and  tried  to  look 
quite  placid,  though  she  quaked  a  little  after  her  bold 
speech.  To  her  great  relief  and  surprise,  the  old  gentle¬ 
man  only  threw  his  spectacles  on  to  the  table  with  a  rattle, 
and  exclaimed  frankly,  — 

“You’re  right,  girl,  I  am!  I  love  the  boy,  but  he 
tries  my  patience  past  bearing,  and  I  don’t  know  how  it 
will  end,  if  we  go  on  so.” 

“  I  ’ll  tell  you,  he  ’ll  run  away.”  Jo  was  sorry  for  that 
speech  the  minute  it  was  made;  she  meant  to  warn  him 
that  Laurie  would  not  bear  much  restraint,  and  hoped  he 
would  be  more  forbearing  with  the  lad. 

Mr.  Laurence’s  ruddy  face  changed  suddenly,  and  he 
sat  down,  with  a  troubled  glance  at  the  picture  of  a  hand¬ 
some  man,  which  hung  over  his  table.  It  was  Laurie’s 
father,  who  had  run  away  in  his  youth,  and  married 
against  the  imperious  old  man’s  will.  Jo  fancied  he  re¬ 
membered  and  regretted  the  past,  and  she  wished  she 
had  held  her  tongue. 

“  He  won’t  do  it  unless  he  is  very  much  worried,  and 
only  threatens  it  sometimes,  when  he  gets  tired  of  study¬ 
ing.  I  often  think  I  should  'like  to,  especially  since  my 
hair  was  cut;  so,  if  you  ever  miss  us,  you  may  advertise 


Laurie  Makes  Mischief  269 

for  two  boys,  and  look  among  the  ships  bound  for 
India.” 

She  laughed  as  she  spoke,  and  Mr.  Laurence  looked 
relieved,  evidently  taking  the  whole  as  a  joke. 

“  You  hussy,  how  dare  you  talk  in  that  way?  Where  ’s 
your  respect  for  me,  and  your  proper  bringing  up? 
Bless  the  boys  and  girls  !  What  torments  they  are  ;  yet 
we  can’t  do  without  them,”  he  said,  pinching  her  cheeks 
good-humoredly.  “  Go  and  bring  that  boy  down  to  his 
dinner,  tell  him  it ’s  all  right,  and  advise  him  not  to  put 
on  tragedy  airs  with  his  grandfather.  I  won’t  bear  it.” 

“He  won’t  come,  sir;  he  feels  badly  because  you 
did  n’t  believe  him  when  he  said  he  could  n’t  tell.  I 
think  the  shaking  hurt  his  feelings  very  much.” 

Jo  tried  to  look  pathetic,  but  must  have  failed,  for  Mr. 
Laurence  began  to  laugh,  and  she  knew  the  day  was  won. 

“  I ’m  sorry  for  that,  and  ought  to  thank  him  for  not 
shaking  me,  I  suppose.  What  the  dickens  does  the  fellow 
expect?  ”  and  the  old  gentleman  looked  a  trifle  ashamed* 
of  his  own  testiness. 

“  If  I  were  you,  I ’d  write  him  an  apology,  sir.  He 
says  he  won’t  come  down  till  he  has  one,  and  talks  about 
Washington,  and  goes  on  in  an  absurd  way.  A  formal 
apology  will  make  him  see  how  foolish  he  is,  and  bring 
him  down  quite  amiable.  Try  it;  he  likes  fun,  and  this 
way  is  better  than  talking.  I  ’ll  carry  it  up,  and  teach 
him  his  duty.” 

Mr.  Laurence  gave  her  a  sharp  look,  and  put  on  his 
spectacles,  saying  slowly,  “You’re  a  sly  puss,  but  I 
don’t  mind  being  managed  by  you  and  Beth.  Here, 
give  me  a  bit  of  paper,  and  let  us  have  done  with  this 
nonsense.” 

The  note  was  written  in  the  terms  which  one  gentleman 
would  use  to  another  after  offering  some  deep  insult.  Jo 


Little  Women 


270 

dropped  a  kiss  on  the  top  of  Mr.  Laurence’s  bald  head, 
and  ran  up  to  slip  the  apology  under  Laurie’s  door,  advis* 
ing  him  through  the  key-hole,  to  be  submissive,  decorous, 
and  a  few  other  agreeable  impossibilities.  Finding  the 
door  locked  again,  she  left  the  note  to  do  its  work,  and 
was  going  quietly  away,  when  the  young  gentleman  slid 
down  the  banisters,  and  waited  for  her  at  the  bottom, 
saying,  with  his  most  virtuous  expression  of  countenance, 
“  What  a  good  fellow  you  are,  Jo  !  Did  you  get  blown 
up?”  he  added,  laughing. 

“No;  he  was  pretty  mild,  on  the  whole.” 

“  Ah  !  I  got  it  all  round ;  even  you  cast  me  off  over 
there,  and  I  felt  just  ready  to  go  to  the  deuce,”  he  began 
apologetically. 

“  Don’t  talk  in  that  way ;  turn  over  a  new  leaf  and 
begin  again,  Teddy,  my  son.” 

“  I  keep  turning  over  new  leaves,  and  spoiling  them, 
as  I  used  to  spoil  my  copy-books ;  and  I  make  so 
many  beginnings  there  never  will  be  an  end,”  he  said 
dolefully. 

“  Go  and  eat  your  dinner;  you  ’ll  feel  better  after  it. 
Men  always  croak  when  they  are  hungry,”  and  Jo  whisked 
out  at  the  front  door  after  that. 

“  That ’s  a  ‘  label  ’  on  my  ‘  sect,’  ”  answered  Laurie, 
quoting  Amy,  as  he  went  to  partake  of  humble-pie 
dutifully  with  his  grandfather,  who  was  quite  saintly  in 
temper  and  overwhelmingly  respectful  in  manner  all  the 
rest  of  the  day. 

Every  one  thought  the  matter  ended  and  the  little 
cloud  blown  over ;  but  the  mischief  was  done,  for,  though 
others  forgot  it,  Meg  remembered.  She  never  alluded 
to  a  certain  person,  but  she  thought  of  him  a  good  deal, 
dreamed  dreams  more  than  ever;  and  once  Jo,  rum- 
maging  her  sister’s  desk  for  stamps,  found  a  bit  of  paper 


Pleasant  Meadows  271 

scribbled  over  with  the  words,  “Mrs.  John  Brooke;” 
whereat  she  groaned  tragically,  and  cast  it  into  the  fire, 
feeling  that  Laurie’s  prank  had  hastened  the  evil  day 
for  hen 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PLEASANT  MEADOWS 

LIKE  sunshine  after  storm  were  the  peaceful  weeks 
which  followed.  The  invalids  improved  rap¬ 
idly,  and  Mr.  March  began  to  talk  of  returning 
early  in  the  new  year.  Beth  was  soon  able  to  lie  on  the 
study  sofa  all  day,  amusing  herself  with  the  well-beloved 
cats,  at  first,  and,  in  time,  with  doll’s  sewing,  which  had 
fallen  sadly  behindhand.  Her  once  active  limbs  were 
so  stiff  and  feeble  that  Jo  took  her  a  daily  airing  about 
the  house  in  her  strong  arms.  Meg  cheerfully  blackened 
and  burnt  her  white  hands  cooking  delicate  messes  for 
“the  dear;  ’’  while  Amy,  a  loyal  slave  of  the  ring,  cele¬ 
brated  her  return  by  giving  away  as  many  of  her  treas¬ 
ures  as  she  could  prevail  on  her  sisters  to  accept. 

As  Christmas  approached,  the  usual  mysteries  began  to 
haunt  the  house,  and  Jo  frequently  convulsed  the  family 
by  proposing  utterly  impossible  or  magnificently  absurd 
ceremonies,  in  honor  of  this  unusually  merry  Christmas. 
Laurie  was  equally  impracticable,  and  would  have  had 
bonfires,  sky-rockets,  and  triumphal  arches,  if  he  had  had 
his  own  way.  After  many  skirmishes  and  snubbings,  the 
ambitious  pair  were  considered  effectually  quenched,  and 
went  about  with  forlorn  faces,  which  were  rather  belied 
by  explosions  of  laughter  when  the  two  got  together. 
Several  days  of  unusually  mild  weather  fitly  ushered 


272 


Little  Women 


in  a  splendid  Christmas  Day.  Hannah  “  felt  in  her 
bones  ”  that  it  was  going  to  be  an  unusually  fine  day, 
and  she  proved  herself  a  true  prophetess,  for  everybody 
and  everything  seemed  bound  to  produce  a  grand  suc¬ 
cess.  To  begin  with,  Mr.  March  wrote  that  he  should 
soon  be  with  them ;  then  Beth  felt  uncommonly  well 
that  morning,  and,  being  dressed  in  her  mother’s  gift,  — 
a  soft  crimson  merino  wrapper,  — was  borne  in  triumph 
to  the  window  to  behold  the  offering  of  Jo  and  Laurie. 
The  Unquenchables  had  done  their  best  to  be  worthy 
of  the  name,  for,  like  elves,  they  had  worked  by  night, 
and  conjured  up  a  comical  surprise.  Out  in  the  garden 
stood  a  stately  snow-maiden,  crowned  with  holly,  bear¬ 
ing  a  basket  of  fruit  and  flowers  in  one  hand,  a  great 
roll  of  new  music  in  the  other,  a  perfect  rainbow  of 
an  Afghan  round  her  chilly  shoulders,  and  a  Christmas 
carol  issuing  from  her  lips,  on  a  pink  paper  streamer:  — 

“THE  JUNGFRAU  TO  BETH. 

“God  bless  you,  dear  Queen  Bess  ! 

May  nothing  you  dismay, 

But  health  and  peace  and  happiness 
Be  yours,  this  Christmas  Day. 

44  Here’s  fruit  to  feed  our  busy  bee, 

And  flowers  for  her  nose ; 

Here’s  music  for  her  pianee, 

An  Afghan  for  her  toes. 

“  A  portrait  of  Joanna,  see, 

By  Raphael  No.  2, 

Who  labored  with  great  industry 
To  make  it  fair  and  true. 

u  Accept  a  ribbon  red,  I  beg, 

For  Madam  Furrer’s  tail; 

And  ice-cream  made  by  lovely  Peg, — 

A  Mont  Blanc  in  a  pail. 


Pleasant  Meadows 


2?3 


“  Their  dearest  love  my  makers  laid 
Within  my  breast  of  snow  : 

Accept  it,  and  the  Alpine  maid, 

From  Laurie  and  from  Jo.” 

How  Beth  laughed  when  she  saw  it,  how  Laurie  ran 
up  and  down  to  bring  in  the  gifts,  and  what  ridiculous 
speeches  Jo  made  as  she  presented  them  ! 

“  I  ’m  so  full  of  happiness,  that,  if  father  was  only 
here,  I  could  n’t  hold  one  drop  more,”  said  Beth,  quite 
sighing  with  contentment  as  Jo  carried  her  off  to  the 
study  to  rest  after  the  excitement,  and  to  refresh  herself 
with  some  of  the  delicious  grapes  the  “Jungfrau  ”  had 
sent  her. 

“  So  am  I,”  added  Jo,  slapping  the  pocket  wherein 
reposed  the  long-desired  Undine  and  Sintram. 

“  I ’m  sure  I  am,”  echoed  Amy,  poring  over  the 
engraved  copy  of  the  Madonna  and  Child,  which  her 
mother  had  given  her,  in  a  pretty  frame. 

“  Of  course  I  am  !  ”  cried  Meg,  smoothing  the  silvery 
folds  of  her  first  silk  dress ;  for  Mr.  Laurence  had  in¬ 
sisted  on  giving  it. 

“  How  can  /  be  otherwise?”  said  Mrs.  March  grate¬ 
fully,  as  her  eyes  went  from  her  husband’s  letter  to  Beth’s 
smiling  face,  and  her  hand  caressed  the  brooch  made  of 
gray  and  golden,  chestnut  and  dark  brown  hair,  which 
the  girls  had  just  fastened  on  her  breast. 

Now  and  then,  in  this  work-a-day  world,  things  do 
happen  in  the  delightful  story-book  fashion,  and  what 
a  comfort  that  is.  Half  an  hour  after  every  one  had 
said  they  were  so  happy  they  could  only  hold  one  drop 
more,  the  drop  came.  Laurie  opened  the  parlor  door, 
and  popped  his  head  in  very  quietly.  He  might  just  as 
well  have  turned  a  somersault  and  uttered  an  Indian 

war-whoop ;  for  his  face  was  so  full  of  suppressed  ex- 

18 


Little  Women 


274 

citement  and  his  voice  so  treacherously  joyful,  that  every 
one  jumped  up,  though  he  only  said,  in  a  queer,  breath¬ 
less  voice,  “  Here ’s  another  Christmas  present  for  the 
March  family.” 

Before  the  words  were  well  out  of  his  mouth,  he  was 
whisked  away  somehow,  and  in  his  place  appeared  a  tall 
man,  muffled  up  to  the  eyes,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  an¬ 
other  tall  man,  who  tried  to  say  something  and  could  n’t. 
Of  course  there  was  a  general  stampede ;  and  for  sev¬ 
eral  minutes  everybody  seemed  to  lose  their  wits,  for 
the  strangest  things  were  done,  and  no  one  said  a  word. 
Mr.  March  became  invisible  in  the  embrace  of  four  pairs 
of  loving  arms;  Jo  disgraced  herself  by  nearly  fainting 
away,  and  had  to  be  doctored  by  Laurie  in  the  china- 
closet;  Mr.  Brooke  kissed  Meg  entirely  by  mistake,  as 
he  somewhat  incoherently  explained ;  and  Amy,  the 
dignified,  tumbled  over  a  stool,  and,  never  stopping  to 
get  up,  hugged  and  cried  over  her  father’s  boots  in  the 
most  touching  manner.  Mrs.  March  was  the  first  to 
recover  herself,  and  held  up  her  hand  with  a  warning, 
“Hush!  remember  Beth!” 

But  it  was  too  late ;  the  study  door  flew  open,  the 
little  red  wrapper  appeared  on  the  threshold,  — joy  put 
strength  into  the  feeble  limbs, —  and  Beth  ran  straight 
into  her  father’s  arms.  Never  mind  what  happened 
just  after  that;  for  the  full  hearts  overflowed,  washing 
away  the  bitterness  of  the  past,  and  leaving  only  the 
sweetness  of  the  present. 

It  was  not  at  all  romantic,  but  a  hearty  laugh  set  every¬ 
body  straight  again,  for  Hannah  was  discovered  behind 
the  door,  sobbing  over  the  fat  turkey,  which  she  had  for¬ 
gotten  to  put  down  when  she  rushed  up  from  the  kitchen. 
As  the  laugh  subsided,  Mrs.  March  began  to  thank  Mr. 
Brooke  for  his  faithful  care  of  her  husband,  at  which  Mr. 


Pleasant  Meadows  275 

Brooke  suddenly  remembered  that  Mr.  March  needed 
rest,  and,  seizing  Laurie,  he  precipitately  retired.  Then 
the  two  invalids  were  ordered  to  repose,  which  they 
did,  by  both  sitting  in  one  big  chair,  and  talking 
hard. 

Mr.  March  told  how  he  had  longed  to  surprise  them, 
and  how,  when  the  fine  weather  came,  he  had  been  al¬ 
lowed  by  his  doctor  to  take  advantage  of  it ;  how  devoted 
Brooke  had  been,  and  how  he  was  altogether  a  most 
estimable  and  upright  young  man.  Why  Mr.  March 
paused  a  minute  just  there,  and,  after  a  glance  at  Meg, 
who  was  violently  poking  the  fire,  looked  at  his  wife  with 
an  inquiring  lift  of  the  eyebrows,  I  leave  you  to  imagine; 
also  why  Mrs.  March  gently  nodded  her  head,  and  asked, 
rather  abruptly,  if  he  would  n’t  have  something  to  eat. 
Jo  saw  and  understood  the  look;  and  she  stalked  grimly 
away  to  get  wine  and  beef-tea,  muttering  to  herself,  as 
she  slammed  the  door,  “  I  hate  estimable  young  men 
with  brown  eyes  !  ” 

There  never  was  such  a  Christmas  dinner  as  they  had 
that  day.  The  fat  turkey  was  a  sight  to  behold,  when 
Hannah  sent  him  up,  stuffed,  browned,  and  decorated; 
so  was  the  plum-pudding,  which  quite  melted  in  one’s 
mouth;  likewise  the  jellies,  in  which  Amy  revelled  like 
a  fly  in  a  honey-pot.  Everything  turned  out  well, 
which  was  a  mercy,  Hannah  said,  “  For  my  mind  was 
that  flustered,  mum,  that  it ’s  a  merrycle  I  did  n’t  roast 
the  pudding,  and  stuff  the  turkey  with  raisins,  let  alone 
bilin’  of  it  in  a  cloth.” 

Mr.  Laurence  and  his  grandson  dined  with  them,  also 
Mr.  Brooke,  —  at  whom  Jo  glowered  darkly,  to  Laurie’s 
infinite  amusement.  Two  easy-chairs  stood  side  by  side 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  in  which  sat  Beth  and  her 
father,  feasting  modestly  on  chicken  and  a  little  fruit 


Little  Women 


276 

They  drank  healths,  told  stories,  sung  songs,  “  remi¬ 
nisced/’  as  the  old  folks  say,  and  had  a  thoroughly  good 
time.  A  sleigh-ride  had  been  planned,  but  the  girls 
would  not  leave  their  father ;  so  the  guests  departed 
early,  and,  as  twilight  gathered,  the  happy  family  sat 
together  round  the  fire. 

“Just  a  year  ago  we  were  groaning  over  the  dismal 
Christmas  we  expected  to  have.  Do  you  remember?” 
asked  Jo,  breaking  a  short  pause  which  had  followed  a 
long  conversation  about  many  things. 

“  Rather  a  pleasant  year  on  the  whole  !  ”  said  Meg, 
smiling  at  the  fire,  and  congratulating  herself  on  hav¬ 
ing  treated  Mr.  Brooke  with  dignity. 

“  I  think  it ’s  been  a  pretty  hard  one,”  observed  Amy, 
watching  the  light  shine  on  her  ring,  with  thoughtful 
eyes. 

“I’m  glad  it ’s  over,  because  we’ve  got  you  back,” 
whispered  Beth,  who  sat  on  her  father’s  knee. 

“  Rather  a  rough  road  for  you  to  travel,  my  little  pil¬ 
grims,  especially  the  latter  part  of  it.  But  you  have  got 
on  bravely;  and  I  think  the  burdens  are  in  a  fair  way 
to  tumble  off  very  soon,”  said  Mr.  March,  looking  with 
fatherly  satisfaction  at  the  four  young  faces  gathered 
round  him. 

“  How  do  you  know?  Did  mother  tell  you?  ”  asked 
Jo. 

“  Not  much  ;  straws  show  which  way  the  wind  blows, 
and  I ’ve  made  several  discoveries  to-day.” 

“  Oh,  tell  us  what  they  are !  ”  cried  Meg,  who  sat 
beside  him. 

“  Here  is  one ;  ”  and  taking  up  the  hand  which  lay 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  he  pointed  to  the  roughened 
forefinger,  a  burn  on  the  back,  and  two  or  three  little 
hard  spots  on  the  palm.  “  I  remember  a  time  when 


Pleasant  Meadows  277 

this  hand  was  white  and  smooth,  and  your  first  care  was 
to  keep  it  so.  It  was  very  pretty  then,  but  to  me  it  is 
much  prettier  now,  —  for  in  these  seeming  blemishes  1 
read  a  little  history.  A  burnt-offering  has  been  made 
of  vanity;  this  hardened  palm  has  earned  something 
better  than  blisters;  and  I’m  sure  the  sewing  done  by 
these  pricked  fingers  will  last  a  long  time,  so  much  good¬ 
will  went  into  the  stitches.  Meg,  my  dear,  I  value  the 
womanly  skill  which  keeps  home  happy  more  than 
white  hands  or  fashionable  accomplishments.  I ’m  proud 
to  shake  this  good,  industrious  little  hand,  and  hope  I 
shall  not  soon  be  asked  to  give  it  away.” 

If  Meg  had  wanted  a  reward  for  hours  of  patient  labor, 
she  received  it  in  the  hearty  pressure  of  her  father’s 
hand  and  the  approving  smile  he  gave  her. 

“What  about  Jo?  Please  say  something  nice;  for 
she  has  tried  so  hard,  and  been  so  very,  very  good  to 
me,”  said  Beth,  in  her  father’s  ear. 

He  laughed,  and  looked  across  at  the  tall  girl  who  sat 
opposite,  with  an  unusually  mild  expression  in  her 
brown  face. 

“  In  spite  of  the  curly  crop,  I  don’t  see  the  ‘son  Jo’ 
whom  I  left  a  year  ago,”  said  Mr.  March.  “  I  see  a 
young  lady  who  pins  her  collar  straight,  laces  her  boots 
neatly,  and  neither  whistles,  talks  slang,  nor  lies  on  the 
rug  as  she  used  to  do.  Her  face  is  rather  thin  and  pale, 
just  now,  with  watching  and  anxiety;  but  I  like  to  look 
at  it,  for  it  has  grown  gentler,  and  her  voice  is  lower ; 
she  does  n’t  bounce,  but  moves  quietly,  and  takes  care 
of  a  certain  little  person  in  a  motherly  way  which  delights 
me.  I  rather  miss  my  wild  girl ;  but  if  I  get  a  strong, 
helpful,  tender-hearted  woman  in  her  place,  I  shall  feel 
quite  satisfied.  I  don’t  know  whether  the  shearing 
sobered  our  black  sheep,  but  I  do  know  that  in  all 


Little  Women 


278 

Washington  I  could  n’t  find  anything  beautiful  enough 
to  be  bought  with  the  five-and-twenty  dollars  which  my 
good  girl  sent  me.” 

Jo’s  keen  eyes  were  rather  dim  for  a  minute,  and  her 
thin  face  grew  rosy  in  the  firelight,  as  she  received  her 
father’s  praise,  feeling  that  she  did  deserve  a  portion  of  it. 

“  Now  Beth,”  said  Amy,  longing  for  her  turn,  but 
ready  to  wait. 

“  There ’s  so  little  of  her,  I ’m  afraid  to  say  much,  for 
fear  she  will  slip  away  altogether,  though  she  is  not  so 
shy  as  she  used  to  be,”  began  their  father  cheerfully ; 
but  recollecting  how  nearly  he  had  lost  her,  he  held  her 
close,  saying  tenderly,  with  her  cheek  against  his  own, 
“  I ’ve  got  you  safe,  my  Beth,  and  I  ’ll  keep  you  so, 
please  God.” 

After  a  minute’s  silence,  he  looked  down  at  Amy, 
who  sat  on  the  cricket  at  his  feet,  and  said,  with  a  caress 
of  the  shining  hair,  — 

“  I  observed  that  Amy  took  drumsticks  at  dinner, 
ran  errands  for  her  mother  all  the  afternoon,  gave  Meg 
her  place  to-night,  and  has  waited  on  every  one  with 
patience  and  good-humor.  I  also  observe  that  she  does 
not  fret  much  nor  look  in  the  glass,  and  has  not  even 
mentioned  a  very  pretty  ring  which  she  wears  ;  so  I  con¬ 
clude  that  she  has  learned  to  think  of  other  people  more 
and  of  herself  less,  and  has  decided  to  try  and  mould  her 
character  as  carefully  as  she  moulds  her  little  clay  fig¬ 
ures.  I  am  glad  of  this ;  for  though  I  should  be  very 
proud  of  a  graceful  statue  made  by  her,  I  shall  be  infi¬ 
nitely  prouder  of  a  lovable  daughter,  with  a  talent  for 
making  life  beautiful  to  herself  and  others.” 

“  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Beth?  ”  asked  Jo,  when 
Amy  had  thanked  her  father  and  told  about  her  ring. 

“  I  read  in  ‘  Pilgrim’s  Progress  ’  to-day,  how,  after 


Aunt  March  Settles  the  Question  279 

many  troubles,  Christian  and  Hopeful  came  to  a  pleasant 
green  meadow,  where  lilies  bloomed  all  the  year  round, 
and  there  they  rested  happily,  as  we  do  now,  before  they 
went  on  to  their  journey’s  end,”  answered  Beth ;  adding, 
as  she  slipped  out  of  her  father’s  arms,  and  went  slowly 
to  the  instrument,  “  It ’s  singing  time  now,  and  I  want 
to  be  in  my  old  place.  I  ’ll  try  to  sing  the  song  of  the 
shepherd-boy  which  the  Pilgrims  heard.  I  made  the 
music  for  father,  because  he  likes  the  verses.” 

So,  sitting  at  the  dear  little  piano,  Beth  softly  touched 
the  keys,  and,  in  the  sweet  voice  they  had  never  thought 
to  hear  again,  sung  to  her  own  accompaniment  the 
quaint  hymn,  which  was  a  singularly  fitting  song  for 
her :  — 

“  He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall, 

He  that  is  low  no  pride  ; 

He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 
Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

et  I  am  content  with  what  I  have, 

Little  be  it  or  much  ; 

And,  Lord  !  contentment  still  I  crave, 

Because  Thou  savest  such. 

“  Fulness  to  them  a  burden  is, 

That  go  on  pilgrimage  ; 

H  ere  little,  and  hereafter  bliss, 

Is  best  from  age  to  age  !  ” 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AUNT  MARCH  SETTLES  THE  QUESTION 

LIKE  bees  swarming  after  their  queen,  mother 
and  daughters  hovered  about  Mr.  March  the 
next  day,  neglecting  everything  to  look  at, 
wait  upon,  and  listen  to  the  new  invalid,  who  was  in  3 


28o 


Little  Women 


fair  way  to  be  killed  by  kindness.  As  he  sat  propped 
up  in  a  big  chair  by  Beth’s  sofa,  with  the  other  three 
close  by,  and  Hannah  popping  in  her  head  now  and 
then,  “  to  peek  at  the  dear  man,”  nothing  seemed 
needed  to  complete  their  happiness.  But  something 
was  needed,  and  the  elder  ones  felt  it,  though  none 
confessed  the  fact.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  March  looked  at  one 
another  with  an  anxious  expression,  as  their  eyes  fol¬ 
lowed  Meg.  Jo  had  sudden  fits  of  sobriety,  and  was 
seen  to  shake  her  fist  at  Mr.  Brooke’s  umbrella,  which 
had  been  left  in  the  hall;  Meg  was  absent-minded,  shy, 
and  silent,  started  when  the  bell  rang,  and  colored  when 
John’s  name  was  mentioned ;  Amy  said  “  Every  one 
seemed  waiting  for  something,  and  could  n’t  settle  down, 
which  was  queer,  since  father  was  safe  at  home,”  and 
Beth  innocently  wondered  why  their  neighbors  didn’t 
run  over  as  usual. 

Laurie  went  by  in  the  afternoon,  and,  seeing  Meg  at 
the  window,  seemed  suddenly  possessed  with  a  melo¬ 
dramatic  fit,  for  he  fell  down  upon  one  knee  in  the  snow, 
beat  his  breast,  tore  his  hair,  and  clasped  his  hands 
imploringly,  as  if  begging  some  boon;  and  when  Meg 
told  him  to  behave  himself  and  go  away,  he  wrung 
imaginary  tears  out  of  his  handkerchief,  and  staggered 
round  the  corner  as  if  in  utter  despair. 

“  What  does  the  goose  mean?”  said  Meg,  laughing, 
and  trying  to  look  unconscious. 

“  He ’s  showing  you  how  your  John  will  go  on  by  and 
by.  Touching,  is  n’t  it?”  answered  Jo  scornfully. 

“  Don’t  say  my  John ,  it  is  n’t  proper  or  true ;  ”  but  Meg’s 
voice  lingered  over  the  words  as  if  they  sounded  pleasant 
to  her.  “  Please  don’t  plague  me,  Jo;  I ’ve  told  you  I 
don’t  care  much  about  him,  and  there  is  n’t  to  be  anything 
said,  but  we  are  all  to  be  friendly,  and  go  on  as  before.” 


Aunt  March  Settles  the  Question  281 

“  We  can’t,  for  something  has  been  said,  and  Laurie’s 
mischief  has  spoilt  you  for  me.  I  see  it,  and  so 
does  mother;  you  are  not  like  your  old  self  a  bit,  and 
seem  ever  so  far  away  from  me.  I  don’t  mean  to  plague 
you,  and  will  bear  it  like  a  man,  but  I  do  wish  it  was  all 
settled.  I  hate  to  wait;  so  if  you  mean  ever  to  do  it, 
make  haste  and  have  it  over  quickly,”  said  Jo  pettishly. 

“  /  can’t  say  or  do  anything  till  he  speaks,  and  he 
won’t,  because  father  said  I  was  too  young,”  began 
Meg,  bending  over  her  work,  with  a  queer  little  smile, 
which  suggested  that  she  did  not  quite  agree  with  her 
father  on  that  point. 

“  If  he  did  speak,  you  would  n’t  know  what  to  say, 
but  would  cry  or  blush,  or  let  him  have  his  own  way, 
instead  of  giving  a  good,  decided,  No.” 

“  I ’m  not  so  silly  and  weak  as  you  think.  I  know 
just  what  I  should  say,  for  I ’ve  planned  it  all,  so  I 
need  n’t  be  taken  unawares ;  there ’s  no  knowing  what 
may  happen,  and  I  wished  to  be  prepared.” 

Jo  could  n’t  help  smiling  at  the  important  air  which 
Meg  had  unconsciously  assumed,  and  which  was  as 
Decoming  as  the  pretty  color  varying  in  her  cheeks. 

“  Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  you ’d  say?  ”  asked 
Jo  more  respectfully. 

“  Not  at  all ;  you  are  sixteen  now,  quite  old  enough 
to  be  my  confidant,  and  my  experience  will  be  useful  to 
you  by  and  by,  perhaps,  in  your  own  affairs  of  this  sort.” 

“  Don’t  mean  to  have  any ;  it ’s  fun  to  watch  other 
people  philander,  but  I  should  feel  like  a  fool  doing  it 
myself,”  said  Jo,  looking  alarmed  at  the  thought. 

“  I  think  not,  if  you  liked  any  one  very  much,  and  he 
liked  you.”  Meg  spoke  as  if  to  herself,  and  glanced  out 
at  the  lane,  where  she  had  often  seen  lovers  walking 
together  in  the  summer  twilight. 


282 


Little  Women 


“  I  thought  you  were  going  to  tell  your  speech  to 
that  man,”  said  Jo,  rudely  shortening  her  sister’s  little 
reverie. 

“  Oh,  I  should  merely  say,  quite  calmly  and  decidedly, 
*  Thank  you,  Mr.  Brooke,  you  are  very  kind,  but  I  agree 
with  father  that  I  am  too  young  to  enter  into  any  en¬ 
gagement  at  present;  so  please  say  no  more,  but  let  us 
be  friends  as  we  were.’  ” 

“  Hum  !  that ’s  stiff  and  cool  enough.  I  don’t  believe 
you  ’ll  ever  say  it,  and  I  know  he  won’t  be  satisfied  if 
you  do.  If  he  goes  on  like  the  rejected  lovers  in  books, 
you  ’ll  give  in,  rather  than  hurt  his  feelings.” 

“  No,  I  won’t.  I  shall  tell  him  I ’ve  made  up  my 
mind,  and  shall  walk  out  of  the  room  with  dignity.” 

Meg  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  was  just  going  to  rehearse 
the  dignified  exit,  when  a  step  in  the  hall  made  her 
fly  into  her  seat,  and  begin  to  sew  as  if  her  life  depended 
on  finishing  that  particular  seam  in  a  given  time.  Jo 
smothered  a  laugh  at  the  sudden  change,  and,  when 
some  one  gave  a  modest  tap,  opened  the  door  with  a 
grim  aspect,  which  was  anything  but  hospitable. 

“Good  afternoon.  I  came  to  get  my  umbrella, — 
that  is,  to  see  how  your  father  finds  himself  to-day,” 
said  Mr.  Brooke,  getting  a  trifle  confused  as  his  eye 
went  from  one  tell-tale  face  to  the  other. 

“It’s  very  well,  he ’s  in  the  rack,  I  ’ll  get  him,  and 
tell  it  you  are  here,”  and  having  jumbled  her  father  and 
the  umbrella  well  together  in  her  reply,  Jo  slipped  out 
of  the  room  to  give  Meg  a  chance  to  make  her  speech 
and  air  her  dignity.  But  the  instant  she  vanished,  Meg 
began  to  sidle  towards  the  door,  murmuring,  — 

“  Mother  will  like  to  see  you.  Pray  sit  down,  I  ’ll  call 
her.” 

“Don’t  go;  are  you  afraid  of  me,  Margaret?”  and 


Aunt  March  Settles  the  Question  283 

Mr.  Brooke  looked  so  hurt  that  Meg  thought  she  must 
have  done  something  very  rude.  She  blushed  up  to 
the  little  curls  on  her  forehead,  for  he  had  never  called 
her  Margaret  before,  and  she  was  surprised  to  find  how 
natural  and  sweet  it  seemed  to  hear  him  say  it.  Anxious 
to  appear  friendly  and  at  her  ease,  she  put  out  her  hand 
with  a  confiding  gesture,  and  said  gratefully,  — 

“  How  can  I  be  afraid  when  you  have  been  so  kind  to 
father?  I  only  wish  I  could  thank  you  for  it.” 

“  Shall  I  tell  you  how?”  asked  Mr.  Brooke,  holding 
the  small  hand  fast  in  both  his  own,  and  looking  down 
at  Meg  with  so  much  love  in  the  brown  eyes,  that  her 
heart  began  to  flutter,  and  she  both  longed  to  run  away 
and  to  stop  and  listen. 

“  Oh  no,  please  don’t —  I ’d  rather  not,”  she  said,  try¬ 
ing  to  withdraw  her  hand,  and  looking  frightened  in 
spite  of  her  denial. 

“  I  won’t  trouble  you,  I  only  want  to  know  if  you  care 
for  me  a  little,  Meg.  I  love  you  so  much,  dear,”  added 
Mr.  Brooke  tenderly. 

This  was  the  moment  for  the  calm,  proper  speech, 
but  Meg  didn’t  make  it;  she  forgot  every  word  of  it, 
hung  her  head,  and  answered,  “  I  don’t  know,”  so 
softly,  that  John  had  to  stoop  down  to  catch  the  foolish 
little  reply. 

He  seemed  to  think  it  was  worth  the  trouble,  for  he 
smiled  to  himself  as  if  quite  satisfied,  pressed  the  plump 
hand  gratefully,  and  said,  in  his  most  persuasive  tone, 
“Will  you  try  and  find  out?  I  want  to  know  so 
much ;  for  I  can’t  go  to  work  with  any  heart  until 
I  learn  whether  I  am  to  have  my  reward  in  the  end 
or  not.” 

“  I ’m  too  young,”  faltered  Meg,  wondering  why  she 
was  so  fluttered,  yet  rather  enjoying  it. 


Little  Women 


284 

“  I  ’ll  wait;  and  in  the  meantime,  you  could  be  learn¬ 
ing  to  like  me.  Would  it  be  a  very  hard  lesson,  dear? '' 

“  Not  if  I  chose  to  learn  it,  but  —  ” 

“  Please  choose  to  learn,  Meg.  I  love  to  teach,  and 
this  is  easier  than  German,”  broke  in  John,  getting 
possession  of  the  other  hand,  so  that  she  had  no  way  of 
hiding  her  face,  as  he  bent  to  look  into  it. 

His  tone  was  properly  beseeching;  but,  stealing  a  shy 
look  at  him,  Meg  saw  that  his  eyes  were  merry  as  well 
as  tender,  and  that  he  wore  the  satisfied  smile  of  one 
who  -had  no  doubt  of  his  success.  This  nettled  her; 
Annie  Moffat’s  foolish  lessons  in  coquetry  came  into  her 
mind,  and  the  love  of  power,  which  sleeps  in  the  bosoms 
of  the  best  of  little  women,  woke  up  all  of  a  sudden  and 
took  possession  of  her.  She  felt  excited  and  strange, 
and,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  followed  a  capricious 
impulse,  and,  withdrawing  her  hands,  said  petulantly, 
“  I  don't  choose.  Please  go  away  and  let  me  be !  ” 

Poor  Mr.  Brooke  looked  as  if  his  lovely  castle  in  the 
air  was  tumbling  about  his  ears,  for  he  had  never  seen 
Meg  in  such  a  mood  before,  and  it  rather  bewildered 
him. 

“Do  you  really  mean  that?”  he  asked  anxiously, 
following  her  as  she  walked  away. 

“Yes,  I  do ;  I  don’t  want  to  be  worried  about  such 
things.  Father  says  I  needn’t;  it’s  too  soon  and  I’d 
rather  not.” 

“  May  n’t  I  hope  you  ’ll  change  your  mind  by  and  by? 
I  ’ll  wait,  and  say  nothing  till  you  have  had  more  time. 
Don’t  play  with  me,  Meg.  I  did  n’t  think  that  of 
you.” 

“  Don’t  think  of  me  at  all.  I ’d  rather  you  would  n’t,” 
said  Meg,  taking  a  naughty  satisfaction  in  trying  her 
lover’s  patience  and  her  own  power. 


Aunt  March  Settles  the  Question  285 

He  was  grave  and  pale  now,  and  looked  decidedly 
more  like  the  novel  heroes  whom  she  admired ;  but  he 
neither  slapped  his  forehead  nor  tramped  about  the 
room,  as  they  did;  he  just  stood  looking  at  her  so  wist¬ 
fully,  so  tenderly,  that  she  found  her  heart  relenting  in 
spite  of  her.  What  would  have  happened  next  I  cannot 
say,  if  Aunt  March  had  not  come  hobbling  in  at  this 
interesting  minute. 

The  old  lady  could  n’t  resist  her  longing  to  see  her 
nephew;  for  she  had  met  Laurie  as  she  took  her  airing, 
and,  hearing  of  Mr.  March’s  arrival,  drove  straight  out 
to  see  him.  The  family  were  all  busy  in  the  back  part 
of  the  house,  and  she  had  made  her  way  quietly  in, 
hoping  to  surprise  them.  She  did  surprise  two  of  them 
so  much  that  Meg  started  as  if  she  had  seen  a  ghost,  and 
Mr.  Brooke  vanished  into  the  study. 

“Bless  me,  what ’s  all  this?  ”  cried  the  old  lady,  with 
a  rap  of  her  cane,  as  she  glanced  from  the  pale  young 
gentleman  to  the  scarlet  young  lady. 

“  It ’s  father’s  friend.  I ’m  so  surprised  to  see  you  !  ” 
stammered  Meg,  feeling  that  she  was  in  for  a  lecture 
now. 

“  That ’s  evident,”  returned  Aunt  March,  sitting  down. 
“  But  what  is  father’s  friend  saying  to  make  you  look 
like  a  peony?  There’s  mischief  going  on,  and  I  insist 
upon  knowing  what  it  is,”  with  another  rap. 

“We  were  merely  talking.  Mr.  Brooke  came  for  his 
umbrella,”  began  Meg,  wishing  that  Mr.  Brooke  and 
the  umbrella  were  safely  out  of  the  house. 

“Brooke?  That  boy’s  tutor?  Ah!  I  understand 
now.  I  know  all  about  it.  Jo  blundered  into  a  wrong 
message  in  one  of  your  father’s  letters,  and  I  made  her 
tell  me.  You  haven’t  gone  and  accepted  him,  child?” 
cried  Aunt  March,  looking  scandalized. 


286 


Little  Women 


“Hush!  he’ll  hear.  Sha’n’t  I  call  mother?”  said 
Meg,  much  troubled. 

“  Not  yet.  I ’ve  something  to  say  to  you,  and  I  must 
free  my  mind  at  once.  Tell  me,  do  you  mean  to 
marry  this  Cook?  If  you  do,  not  one  penny  of  my 
money  ever  goes  to  you.  Remember  that,  and  be  a 
sensible  girl,”  said  the  old  lady  impressively. 

Now  Aunt  March  possessed  in  perfection  the  art  of 
rousing  the  spirit  of  opposition  in  the  gentlest  people, 
and  enjoyed  doing  it.  The  best  of  us  have  a  spice  of 
perversity  in  us,  especially  when  we  are  young  and  in 
love.  If  Aunt  March  had  begged  Meg  to  accept  John 
Brooke,  she  would  probably  have  declared  she  could  n’t 
think  of  it ;  but  as  she  was  peremptorily  ordered  not  to 
like  him,  she  immediately  made  up  her  mind  that  she 
would.  Inclination  as  well  as  perversity  made  the 
decision  easy,  and,  being  already  much  excited,  Meg 
opposed  the  old  lady  with  unusual  spirit. 

“  I  shall  marry  whom  I  please,  Aunt  March,  and  you 
can  leave  your  money  to  any  one  you  like,”  she  said, 
nodding  her  head  with  a  resolute  air. 

“  Highty  tighty !  Is  that  the  way  you  take  my 
advice,  miss?  You  ’ll  be  sorry  for  it,  by  and  by,  when 
you ’ve  tried  love  in  a  cottage,  and  found  it  a  failure.” 

“  It  can’t  be  a  worse  one  than  some  people  find  in 
big  houses,”  retorted  Meg. 

Aunt  March  put  on  her  glasses  and  took  a  look  at 
the  girl,  for  she  did  not  know  her  in  this  new  mood. 
Meg  hardly  knew  herself,  she  felt  so  brave  and  inde¬ 
pendent, —  so  glad  to  defend  John,  and  assert  her  right 
to  love  him,  if  she  liked.  Aunt  March  saw  that  she  had 
begun  wrong,  and,  after  a  little  pause,  made  a  fresh 
start,  saying,  as  mildly  as  she  could,  “  Now,  Meg,  my 
dear,  be  reasonable,  and  take  my  advice.  I  mean  it 


Aunt  March  Settles  the  Question  287 

kindly,  and  don’t  want  you  to  spoil  your  whole  life  by 
making  a  mistake  at  the  beginning.  You  ought  to  marry 
well,  and  help  your  family;  it’s  your  duty  to  make  a 
rich  match,  and  it  ought  to  be  impressed  upon  you.” 

“  Father  and  mother  don’t  think  so;  they  like  John, 
though  he  is  poor.” 

“  Your  parents,  my  dear,  have  no  more  worldly 
wisdom  than  two  babies.” 

“  I ’m  glad  of  it,”  cried  Meg  stoutly. 

Aunt  March  took  no  notice,  but  went  on  with  her 
lecture.  “  This  Rook  is  poor,  and  has  n’t  got  any  rich 
relations,  has  he?” 

“  No;  but  he  has  many  warm  friends.” 

“  You  can’t  live  on  friends;  try  it,  and  see  how  cool 
they’ll  grow.  He  hasn’t  any  business,  has  he?” 

“  Not  yet;  Mr.  Laurence  is  going  to  help  him.” 

“  That  won’t  last  long.  James  Laurence  is  a  crotchety 
old  fellow,  and  not  to  be  depended  on.  So  you  intend 
to  marry  a  man  without  money,  position,  or  business, 
and  go  on  working  harder  than  you  do  now,  when  you 
might  be  comfortable  all  your  days  by  minding  me  and 
doing  better?  I  thought  you  had  more  sense,  Meg.” 

“  I  could  n’t  do  better  if  I  waited  half  my  life  !  John 
is  good  and  wise;  he ’s  got  heaps  of  talent;  he’s  willing 
to  work,  and  sure  to  get  on,  he ’s  so  energetic  and  brave. 
Every  one  likes  and  respects  him,  and  I ’m  proud  to 
think  he  cares  for  me,  though  I ’m  so  poor  and  young 
and  silly,”  said  Meg,  looking  prettier  than  ever  in  her 
earnestness. 

“  He  knows  you  have  got  rich  relations,  child;  that ’s 
the  secret  of  his  liking,  I  suspect.” 

“  Aunt  March,  how  dare  you  say  such  a  thing?  John 
is  above  such  meanness,  and  I  won’t  listen  to  you  a 
tninute  if  you  talk  so,”  cried  Meg  indignantly,  forgetting 


288 


Little  Women 


everything  but  the  injustice  of  the  old  lady’s  suspicions. 
“  My  John  would  n’t  marry  for  money,  any  more  than  1 
would.  We  are  willing  to  work,  and  we  mean  to  wait. 
I ’m  not  afraid  of  being  poor,  for  I ’ve  been  happy  so 
far,  and  I  know  I  shall  be  with  him,  because  he  loves 
me,  and  I  — ” 

Meg  stopped  there,  remembering  all  of  a  sudden 
that  she  had  n’t  made  up  her  mind;  that  she  had  told 
“her  John”  to  go  away,  and  that  he  might  be  over¬ 
hearing  her  inconsistent  remarks. 

Aunt  March  was  very  angry,  for  she  had  set  her 
heart  on  having  her  pretty  niece  make  a  fine  match, 
and  something  in  the  girl’s  happy  young  face  made  the 
lonely  old  woman  feel  both  sad  and  sour. 

“  Well,  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  affair  !  You  are 
a  wilful  child,  and  you ’ve  lost  more  than  you  know  by 
this  piece  of  folly.  No,  I  won’t  stop;  I’m  disappointed 
in  you,  and  have  n’t  spirits  to  see  your  father  now. 
Don’t  expect  anything  from  me  when  you  are  married ; 
your  Mr.  Book’s  friends  must  take  care  of  you.  I ’m 
done  with  you  forever.” 

And,  slamming  the  door  in  Meg’s  face,  Aunt  March 
drove  off  in  high  dudgeon.  She  seemed  to  take  all  the 
girl’s  courage  with  her;  for,  when  left  alone,  Meg  stood 
a  moment,  undecided  whether  to  laugh  or  cry.  Before 
she  could  make  up  her  mind,  she  was  taken  possession 
of  by  Mr.  Brooke,  who  said,  all  in  one  breath,  “  I 
couldn’t  help  hearing,  Meg.  Thank  you  for  defending 
me,  and  Aunt  March  for  proving  that  you  do  care  for 
me  a  little  bit.” 

“  I  did  n’t  know  how  much,  till  she  abused  you,” 
began  Meg. 

“  And  I  need  n’t  go  away,  but  may  stay  and  be  happy, 
may  I,  dear?  ” 


Aunt  March  Settles  the  Question  289 

Here  was  another  fine  chance  to  make  the  crushing 
speech  and  the  stately  exit,  but  Meg  never  thought  of 
doing  either,  and  disgraced  herself  forever  in  Jo’s  eyes 
by  meekly  whispering,  “  Yes,  John,”  and  hiding  her  face 
on  Mr.  Brooke’s  waistcoat. 

Fifteen  minutes  after  Aunt  March’s  departure,  Jo 
came  softly  downstairs,  paused  an  instant  at  the  parlor 
door,  and,  hearing  no  sound  within,  nodded  and  smiled, 
with  a  satisfied  expression,  saying  to  herself,  “  She  has 
seen  him  away  as  we  planned,  and  that  affair  is  settled. 
I  ’ll  go  and  hear  the  fun,  and  have  a  good  laugh  over 
it.” 

But  poor  Jo  never  got  her  laugh,  for  she  was  trans¬ 
fixed  upon  the  threshold  by  a  spectacle  which  held  her 
there,  staring  with  her  mouth  nearly  as  wide  open  as 
her  eyes.  Going  in  to  exult  over  a  fallen  enemy,  and  to 
praise  a  strong-minded  sister  for  the  banishment  of  an 
objectionable  lover,  it  certainly  was  a  shock  to  behold 
the  aforesaid  enemy  serenely  sitting  on  the  sofa,  with 
the  strong-minded  sister  enthroned  upon  his  knee,  and 
wearing  an  expression  of  the  most  abject  submission. 
Jo  gave  a  sort  of  gasp,  as  if  a  cold  shower-bath  had  sud¬ 
denly  fallen  upon  her,  —  for  such  an  unexpected  turn¬ 
ing  of  the  tables  actually  took  her  breath  away.  At  the 
odd  sound,  the  lovers  turned  and  saw  her.  Meg  jumped 
up,  looking  both  proud  and  shy;  but  “  that  man,”  as  Jo 
called  him,  actually  laughed,  and  said  coolly,  as  he 
kissed  the  astonished  new-comer,  “  Sister  Jo,  congratu¬ 
late  us  !  ” 

That  was  adding  insult  to  injury,  —  it  was  altogether 
too  much,  —  and,  making  some  wild  demonstration  with 
her  hands,  Jo  vanished  without  a  word.  Rushing  up¬ 
stairs,  she  startled  the  invalids  by  exclaiming  tragically, 
as  she  burst  into  the  room,  “  Oh,  do  somebody  go  down 

>9 


2  qo  Little  Women 

✓ 

quick;  John  Brooke  is  acting  dreadfully,  and  Meg  likes 
it!  ” 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  March  left  the  room  with  speed ;  and, 
casting  herself  upon  the  bed,  Jo  cried  and  scolded  tem¬ 
pestuously  as  she  told  the  awful  news  to  Beth  and  Amy. 
The  little  girls,  however,  considered  it  a  most  agreeable 
and  interesting  event,  and  Jo  got  little  comfort  from 
them ;  so  she  went  up  to  her  refuge  in  the  garret,  and 
confided  her  troubles  to  the  rats. 

Nobody  ever  knew  what  went  on  in  the  parlor  that 
afternoon ;  but  a  great  deal  of  talking  was  done,  and 
quiet  Mr.  Brooke  astonished  his  friends  by  the  eloquence 
and  spirit  with  which  he  pleaded  his  suit,  told  his  plans, 
and  persuaded  them  to  arrange  everything  just  as  he 
wanted  it. 

The  tea-bell  rang  before  he  had  finished  describing 
the  paradise  which  he  meant  to  earn  for  Meg,  and  he 
proudly  took  her  in  to  supper,  both  looking  so  happy 
that  Jo  had  n’t  the  heart  to  be  jealous  or  dismal.  Amy 
was  very  much  impressed  by  John’s  devotion  and  Meg’s 
dignity,  Beth  beamed  at  them  from  a  distance,  while 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  March  surveyed  the  young  couple  with 
such  tender  satisfaction  that  it  was  perfectly  evident 
Aunt  March  was  right  in  calling  them  as  “  unworldly  as 
a  pair  of  babies.”  No  one  ate  much,  but  every  one 
looked  very  happy,  and  the  old  room  seemed  to 
brighten  up  amazingly  when  the  first  romance  of  the 
family  began  there. 

“  You  can’t  say  nothing  pleasant  ever  happens  now, 
can  you,  Meg?”  said  Amy,  trying  to  decide  how  she 
would  group  the  lovers  in  the  sketch  she  was  planning 
to  take. 

“No,  I’m  sure  I  can’t.  How  much  has  happened 
since  I  said  that !  It  seems  a  year  ago,”  answered  Meg, 


Aunt  March  Settles  the  Question  291 

who  was  in  a  blissful  dream,  lifted  far  above  such  com 
mon  things  as  bread  and  butter. 

“  The  joys  come  close  upon  the  sorrows  this  time,  and 
I  rather  think  the  changes  have  begun,”  said  Mrs. 
March.  “  In  most  families  there  comes,  now  and  then, 
a  year  full  of  events ;  this  has  been  such  an  one,  but  it 
ends  well,  after  all.” 

“  Hope  the  next  will  end  better,”  muttered  Jo,  who 
found  it  very  hard  to  see  Meg  absorbed  in  a  stranger 
before  her  face  ;  for  Jo  loved  a  few  persons  very  dearly, 
and  dreaded  to  have  their  affection  lost  or  lessened  in 
any  way. 

“  I  hope  the  third  year  from  this  will  end  better  ;  I 
mean  it  shall,  if  I  live  to  work  out  my  plans,”  said  Mr. 
Brooke,  smiling  at  Meg,  as  if  everything  had  become 
possible  to  him  now. 

“Doesn’t  it  seem  very  long  to  wait?”  asked  Amy, 
who  was  in  a  hurry  for  the  wedding. 

“  I ’ve  got  so  much  to  learn  before  I  shall  be  ready,  it 
seems  a  short  time  to  me,”  answered  Meg,  with  a  sweet 
gravity  in  her  face,  never  seen  there  before. 

“  You  have  only  to  wait ;  /am  to  do  the  work,”  said 
John,  beginning  his  labors  by  picking  up  Meg’s  napkin, 
with  an  expression  which  caused  Jo  to  shake  her  head, 
and  then  say  to  herself,  with  an  air  of  relief,  as  the  front 
door  banged,  “  Here  comes  Laurie  Now  we  shall  have 
a  little  sensible  conversation.” 

But  Jo  was  mistaken ;  for  Laurie  came  prancing  in, 
overflowing  with  spirits,  bearing  a  great  bridal-looking 
bouquet  for  “  Mrs.  John  Brooke,”  and  evidently  labor¬ 
ing  under  the  delusion  that  the  whole  affair  had  been 
brought  about  by  his  excellent  management. 

“  I  knew  Brooke  would  have  it  all  his  own  way,  he 
always  does ;  for  when  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  accorm 


Little  Women 


292 

plish  anything,  it’s  done,  though  the  sky  falls,"  said  Lau¬ 
rie,  when  he  had  presented  his  offering  and  his  con¬ 
gratulations. 

“  Much  obliged  for  that  recommendation.  I  take  it 
as  a  good  omen  for  the  future,  and  invite  you  to  my 
wedding  on  the  spot,"  answered  Mr.  Brooke,  who  felt  at 
peace  with  all  mankind,  even  his  mischievous  pupil. 

“  I  ’ll  come  if  I  ’m  at  the  ends  of  the  earth;  for  the 
sight  of  Jo’s  face  alone,  on  that  occasion,  would  be 
worth  a  long  journey.  You  don’t  look  festive,  ma’am; 
what’s  the  matter?”  asked  Laurie,  following  her  into  a 
corner  of  the  parlor,  whither  all  had  adjourned  to  greet 
Mr.  Laurence. 

“  I  don’t  approve  of  the  match,  but  I  ’ve  made  up  my 
mind  to  bear  it,  and  shall  not  say  a  word  against  it," 
said  Jo  solemnly.  “  You  can’t  know  how  hard  it  is  for 
me  to  give  up  Meg,"  she  continued,  with  a  little  quiver 
in  her  voice. 

“  You  don’t  give  her  up.  You  only  go  halves,"  said 
Laurie  consolingly. 

“It  never  can  be  the  same  again.  I ’ve  lost  my  dear¬ 
est  friend,"  sighed  Jo. 

“  You’ve  got  me,  anyhow.  I ’m  not  good  for  much, 
I  know;  but  I’ll  stand  by  you,  Jo,  all  the  days  of  my 
life ;  upon  my  word  I  will !  "  and  Laurie  meant  what  he 
said. 

“  I  know  you  will,  and  I’m  ever  so  much  obliged; 
you  are  always  a  great  comfort  to  me,  Teddy,"  returned 
Jo,  gratefully  shaking  hands. 

“  Well,  now,  don’t  be  dismal,  there ’s  a  good  fellow. 
It’s  all  right,  you  see.  Meg  is  happy;  Brooke  will  fly 
round  and  get  settled  immediately;  grandpa  will  attend 
to  him,  and  it  will  be  very  jolly  to  see  Meg  m  her  own 
little  house.  We  ’ll  have  capital  times  after  she  is  gone, 


Aunt  March  Settles  the  Question  293 

for  I  shall  be  through  college  before  long,  and  then  we  ’ll 
go  abroad,  or  some  nice  trip  or  other.  Would  n’t  that 
console  you  ?  ” 

“I  rather  think  it  would;  but  there’s  no  knowing 
what  may  happen  in  three  years,”  said  Jo  thoughtfully. 

“  That ’s  true.  Don’t  you  wish  you  could  take  a  look 
forward,  and  see  where  we  shall  all  be  then?  I  do,”  re¬ 
turned  Laurie. 

“I  think  not,  for  I  might  see  something  sad;  and 
every  one  looks  so  happy  now,  I  don’t  believe  they 
could  be  much  improved;  ”  and  Jo’s  eyes  went  slowly 
round  the  room,  brightening  as  they  looked,  for  the 
prospect  was  a  pleasant  one. 

Father  and  mother  sat  together,  quietly  re-living  the 
first  chapter  of  the  romance  which  for  them  began  some 
twenty  years  ago.  Amy  was  drawing  the  lovers,  who 
sat  apart  in  a  beautiful  world  of  their  own,  the  light  of 
which  touched  their  faces  with  a  grace  the  little  artist 
could  not  copy.  Beth  lay  on  her  sofa,  talking  cheerily 
with  her  old  friend,  who  held  her  little  hand  as  if  he  felt 
that  it  possessed  the  power  to  lead  him  along  the  peace¬ 
ful  way  she  walked.  Jo  lounged  in  her  favorite  low  seat, 
with  the  grave,  quiet  look  which  best  became  her  ;  and 
Laurie,  leaning  on  the  back  of  her  chair,  his  chin  on  a 
level  with  her  curly  head,  smiled  with  his  friendliest 
aspect,  and  nodded  at  her  in  the  long  glass  which 
reflected  them  both. 

So  grouped,  the  curtain  falls  upon  Meg,  Jo,  Beth,  and 
Amy.  Whether  it  ever  rises  again,  depends  upon  the 
reception  given  to  the  first  act  of  the  domestic  drama 
called  “  Little  Women.” 


LITTLE  WOMEN 

PART  SECOND 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

GOSSIP 

IN  order  that  we  may  start  afresh,  and  go  to  Meg’s 
wedding  with  free  minds,  it  will  be  well  to  begin 
with  a  little  gossip  about  the  Marches.  And  here 
let  me  premise,  that  if  any  of  the  elders  think  there  is 
too  much  “  lovering  ”  in  the  story,  as  I  fear  they  may 
(I  ’m  not  afraid  the  young  folks  will  make  that  objec¬ 
tion),  I  can  only  say  with  Mrs.  March,  “  What  can  you 
expect  when  I  have  four  gay  girls  in  the  house,  and  a 
dashing  young  neighbor  over  the  way?  ” 

The  three  years  that  have  passed  have  brought  but 
few  changes  to  the  quiet  family.  The  war  is  over,  and 
Mr.  March  safely  at  home,  busy  with  his  books  and  the 
small  parish  which  found  in  him  a  minister  by  nature  as 
by  grace,  —  a  quiet,  studious  man,  rich  in  the  wisdom 
that  is  better  than  learning,  the  charity  which  calls  all 
mankind  “  brother,”  the  piety  that  blossoms  into  char¬ 
acter,  making  it  august  and  lovely. 

These  attributes,  in  spite  of  poverty  and  the  strict 
integrity  which  shut  him  out  from  the  more  worldly 
successes,  attracted  to  him  many  admirable  persons,  as 
naturally  as  sweet  herbs  draw  bees,  and  as  naturally  he 


Little  Women 


296 

gave  them  the  honey  into  which  fifty  years  of  hard  ex^ 
perience  had  distilled  no  bitter  drop.  Earnest  young 
men  found  the  gray-headed  scholar  as  young  at  heart 
as  they ;  thoughtful  or  troubled  women  instinctively 
brought  their  doubts  and  sorrows  to  him,  sure  of  find¬ 
ing  the  gentlest  sympathy,  the  wisest  counsel ;  sinners 
told  their  sins  to  the  pure-hearted  old  man,  and  were 
both  rebuked  and  saved ;  gifted  men  found  a  compan¬ 
ion  in  him ;  ambitious  men  cau  ght  glimpses  of  nobler 
ambitions  than  their  own ;  and  even  worldlings  con¬ 
fessed  that  his  beliefs  were  beautiful  and  true,  although 
“  they  would  n’t  pay.” 

To  outsiders,  the  five  energetic  women  seemed  to 
rule  the  house,  and  so  they  did  in  many  things ;  but 
the  quiet  scholar,  sitting  among  his  books,  was  still 
the  head  of  the  family,  the  household  conscience, 
anchor,  and  comforter ;  for  to  him  the  busy,  anxious 
women  always  turned  in  troublous  times,  finding  him, 
in  the  truest  sense  of  those  sacred  words,  husband  and 
father. 

The  girls  gave  their  hearts  into  their  mother’s  keep¬ 
ing,  their  souls  into  their  father’s ;  and  to  both  parents, 
who  lived  and  labored  so  faithfully  for  them,  they  gave 
a  love  that  grew  with  their  growth,  and  bound  them 
tenderly  together  by  the  sweetest  tie  which  blesses  life 
and  outlives  death. 

Mrs.  March  is  as  brisk  and  cheery,  though  rather 
grayer,  than  when  we  saw  her  last,  and  just  now  so 
absorbed  in  Meg’s  affairs  that  the  hospitals  and  homes, 
still  full  of  wounded  “boys”  and  soldiers’  widows,  de¬ 
cidedly  miss  the  motherly  missionary’s  visits. 

John  Brooke  did  his  duty  manfully  for  a  year,  got 
wounded,  was  sent  home,  and  not  allowed  to  return. 
He  received  no  stars  or  bars,  but  he  deserved  them, 


uossip  297 

for  he  cheerfully  risked  all  he  had ;  and  life  and  love 
are  very  precious  when  both  are  in  full  bloom.  Per¬ 
fectly  resigned  to  his  discharge,  he  devoted  himself  to 
getting  well,  preparing  for  business,  and  earning  a 
home  for  Meg.  With  the  good  sense  and  sturdy  in¬ 
dependence  that  characterized  him,  he  refused  Mr. 
Laurence’s  more  generous  offers,  and  accepted  the 
place  of  book-keeper,  feeling  better  satisfied  to  begin 
with  an  honestly-earned  salary  than  by  running  any 
risks  with  borrowed  money. 

Meg  had  spent  the  time  in  working  as  well  as  waiting, 
growing  womanly  in  character,  wise  in  housewifely  arts, 
and  prettier  than  ever;  for  love  is  a  great  beautifier. 
She  had  her  girlish  ambitions  and  hopes,  and  felt  some 
disappointment  at  the  humble  way  in  which  the  new 
life  must  begin.  Ned  Moffat  had  just  married  Sallie 
Gardiner,  and  Meg  could  n’t  help  contrasting  their  fine 
house  and  carriage,  many  gifts,  and  splendid  outfit, 
with  her  own,  and  secretly  wishing  she  could  have  the 
same.  But  somehow  envy  and  discontent  soon  van¬ 
ished  when  she  thought  of  all  the  patient  love  and. 
labor  John  had  put  into  the  little  home  awaiting  her; 
and  when  they  sat  together  in  the  twilight,  talking  over 
their  small  plans,  the  future  always  grew  so  beautiful 
and  bright  that  she  forgot  Sallie’s  splendor,  and  felt 
herself  the  richest,  happiest  girl  in  Christendom. 

Jo  never  went  back  to  Aunt  March,  for  the  old  lady 
took  such  a  fancy  to  Amy  that  she  bribed  her  with  the 
offer  of  drawing  lessons  from  one  of  the  best  teachers 
going;  and  for  the  sake  of  this  advantage,  Amy  would 
have  served  a  far  harder  mistress.  So  she  gave  her 
mornings  to  duty,  her  afternoons  to  pleasure,  and 
prospered  finely.  Jo,  meantime,  devoted  herself  to 
literature  and  Beth,  who  remained  delicate  long  after 


Little  Women 


298 

the  fever  was  a  thing  of  the  past.  Not  an  invalid  ex¬ 
actly,  but  never  again  the  rosy,  healthy  creature  she 
had  been;  yet  always  hopeful,  happy,  and  serene,  busy 
with  the  quiet  duties  she  loved,  every  one’s  friend,  and 
an  angel  in  the  house,  long  before  those  who  loved 
her  most  had  learned  to  know  it. 

As  long  as  “  The  Spread  Eagle  ”  paid  her  a  dollar  a 
column  for  her  “  rubbish,”  as  she  called  it,  Jo  felt  herself 
a  woman  of  means,  and  spun  her  little  romances  dili¬ 
gently.  But  great  plans  fermented  in  her  busy  brain 
and  ambitious  mind,  and  the  old  tin  kitchen  in  the 
garret  held  a  slowly  increasing  pile  of  blotted  manu¬ 
script,  which  was  one  day  to  place  the  name  of  March 
upon  the  roll  of  fame. 

Laurie,  having  dutifully  gone  to  college  to  please  his 
grandfather,  was  now  getting  through  it  in  the  easiest 
possible  manner  to  please  himself.  A  universal  favor¬ 
ite,  thanks  to  money,  manners,  much  talent,  and  the 
kindest  heart  that  ever  got  its  owner  into  scrapes  by 
trying  to  get  other  people  out  of  them,  he  stood  in 
great  danger  of  being  spoilt,  and  probably  would  have 
been,  like  many  another  promising  boy,  if  he  had  not 
possessed  a  talisman  against  evil  in  the  memory  of  the 
kind  old  man  who  was  bound  up  in  his  success,  the 
motherly  friend  who  watched  over  him  as  if  he  were 
her  son,  and  last,  but  not  least  by  any  means,  the 
knowledge  that  four  innocent  girls  loved,  admired,  and 
believed  in  him  with  all  their  hearts. 

Being  only  “  a  glorious  human  boy,”  of  course  he 
frolicked  and  flirted,  grew  dandified,  aquatic,  senti¬ 
mental,  or  gymnastic,  as  college  fashions  ordained; 
hazed  and  was  hazed,  talked  slang,  and  more  than 
once  came  perilously  near  suspension  and  expulsion. 
But  as  high  spirits  and  the  love  of  fun  were  the  causes 


LrOSSip  299 

of  these  pranks,  he  always  managed  to  save  himself 
by  frank  confession,  honorable  atonement,  or  the  irre¬ 
sistible  power  of  persuasion  which  he  possessed  in 
perfection.  In  fact,  he  rather  prided  himself  on  his 
narrow  escapes,  and  liked  to  thrill  the  girls  with  graphic 
accounts  of  his  triumphs  over  wrathful  tutors,  dignified 
professors,  and  vanquished  enemies.  The  “  men  of 
my  class  ”  were  heroes  in  the  eyes  of  the  girls,  who 
never  wearied  of  the  exploits  of  “  our  fellows,”  and 
were  frequently  allowed  to  bask  in  the  smiles  of  these 
great  creatures,  when  Laurie  brought  them  home  with 
him. 

Amy  especially  enjoyed  this  high  honor,  and  became 
quite  a  belle  among  them ;  for  her  ladyship  early  felt 
and  learned  to  use  the  gift  of  fascination  with  which  she 
was  endowed.  Meg  was  too  much  absorbed  in  her 
private  and  particular  John  to  care  for  any  other  lords 
of  creation,  and  Beth  too  shy  to  do  more  than  peep  at 
them,  and  wonder  how  Amy  dared  to  order  them  about 
so;  but  Jo  felt  quite  in  her  element,  and  found  it  very 
difficult  to  refrain  from  imitating  the  gentlemanly  atti¬ 
tudes,  phrases,  and  feats,  which  seemed  more  natural 
to  her  than  the  decorums  prescribed  for  young  ladies. 
They  all  liked  Jo  immensely,  but  never  fell  in  love  with 
her,  though  very  few  escaped  without  paying  the  tribute 
of  a  sentimental  sigh  or  two  at  Amy’s  shrine.  And 
speaking  of  sentiment  brings  us  very  naturally  to  the 
“  Dove-cote.” 

That  was  the  name  of  the  little  brown  house  which 
Mr.  Brooke  had  prepared  for  Meg’s  first  home.  Laurie 
had  christened  it,  saying  it  was  highly  appropriate  to  the 
gentle  lovers,  who  “  went  on  together  like  a  pair  of  tur¬ 
tle-doves,  with  first  a  bill  and  then  a  coo.”  It  was  a  tiny 
house,  with  a  little  garden  behind,  and  a  lawn  about  as 


Little  Women 


3°° 

big  as  a  pocket-handkerchief  in  front.  Here  Meg  meant 
to  have  a  fountain,  shrubbery,  and  a  profusion  of  lovely 
flowers;  though  just  at  present,  the  fountain  was  repre¬ 
sented  by  a  weather-beaten  urn,  very  like  a  dilapidated 
slop-bowl ;  the  shrubbery  consisted  of  several  young 
larches,  undecided  whether  to  live  or  die;  and  the  pro¬ 
fusion  of  flowers  was  merely  hinted  by  regiments  of 
sticks,  to  show  where  seeds  were  planted.  But  inside, 
it  was  altogether  charming,  and  the  happy  bride  saw  no 
fault  from  garret  to  cellar.  To  be  sure,  the  hall  was  so 
narrow,  it  was  fortunate  that  they  had  no  piano,  for  one 
never  could  have  been  got  in  whole;  the  dining-room 
was  so  small  that  six  people  were  a  tight  fit ;  and  the 
kitchen  stairs  seemed  built  for  the  express  purpose  of 
precipitating  both  servants  and  china  pell-mell  into  the 
coal-bin.  But  once  get  used  to  these  slight  blemishes,  and 
nothing  could  be  more  complete,  for  good  sense  and  good 
taste  had  presided  over  the  furnishing,  and  the  result  was 
highly  satisfactory.  There  were  no  marble-topped  ta¬ 
bles,  long  mirrors,  or  lace  curtains  in  the  little  parlor, 
but  simple  furniture,  plenty  of  books,  a  fine  picture  or 
two,  a  stand  of  flowers  in  the  bay-window,  and,  scattered 
all  about,  the  pretty  gifts  which  came  from  friendly 
hands,  and  were  the  fairer  for  the  loving  messages  they 
brought. 

I  don’t  think  the  Parian  Psyche  Laurie  gave  lost  any 
of  its  beauty  because  John  put  up  the  bracket  it  stood 
upon;  that  any  upholsterer  could  have  draped  the  plain 
muslin  curtains  more  gracefully  than  Amy’s  artistic  hand  ; 
or  that  any  store-room  was  ever  better  provided  with 
good  wishes,  merry  words,  and  happy  hopes,  than  that 
in  which  Jo  and  her  mother  put  away  Meg’s  few  boxes, 
barrels,  and  bundles;  and  I  am  morally  certain  that  the 
spandy-new  kitchen  never  could  have  looked  so  cosey 


uossip  301 

and  neat  if  Hannah  had  not  arranged  every  pot  and  pan 
a  dozen  times  over,  and  laid  the  fire  all  ready  for  lighting, 
the  minute  “  Mis.  Brooke  came  home.”  I  also  doubt  if 
any  young  matron  ever  began  life  with  so  rich  a  supply 
of  dusters,  holders,  and  piece-bags;  for  Beth  made 
enough  to  last  till  the  silver  wedding  came  round,  and 
invented  three  different  kinds  of  dishcloths  for  the  ex¬ 
press  service  of  the  bridal  china. 

People  who  hire  all  these  things  done  for  them  never 
know  what  they  lose  ;  for  the  homeliest  tasks  get  beauti¬ 
fied  if  loving  hands  do  them,  and  Meg  found  so  many 
proofs  of  this,  that  everything  in  her  small  nest,  from  the 
kitchen  roller  to  the  silver  vase  on  her  parlor  table,  was 
eloquent  of  home  love  and  tender  forethought. 

What  happy  times  they  had  planning  together,  what 
solemn  shopping  excursions ;  what  funny  mistakes  they 
made,  and  what  shouts  of  laughter  arose  over  Laurie’s 
ridiculous  bargains.  In  his  love  of  jokes,  this  young 
gentleman,  though  nearly  through  college,  was  as  much 
of  a  boy  as  ever.  His  last  whim  had  been  to  bring  with 
him,  on  his  weekly  visits,  some  new,  useful,  and  ingen¬ 
ious  article  for  the  young  housekeeper.  Now  a  bag  of 
remarkable  clothes-pins ;  next,  a  wonderful  nutmeg- 
grater,  which  fell  to  pieces  at  the  first  trial ;  a  knife- 
cleaner  that  spoilt  all  the  knives;  or  a  sweeper  that 
picked  the  nap  neatly  off  the  carpet,  and  left  the  dirt ; 
labor-saving  soap  that  took  the  skin  off  one’s  hands ; 
infallible  cements  which  stuck  firmly  to  nothing  but  the 
fingers  of  the  deluded  buyer  ;  and  every  kind  of  tin-ware, 
from  a  toy  savings-bank  for  odd  pennies,  to  a  wonderful 
boiler  which  would  wash  articles  in  its  own  steam,  with 
every  prospect  of  exploding  in  the  process. 

In  vain  Meg  begged  him  to  stop.  John  laughed  at 
him,  and  Jo  called  him  “  Mr.  Toodles.”  He  was  pos- 


Littie  Women 


302 

sessed  with  a  manta  for  patronizing  Yankee  ingenuity, 
and  seeing  his  friends  fitly  furnished  forth.  So  each 
week  beheld  some  fresh  absurdity. 

Everything  was  done  at  last,  even  to  Amy’s  arranging 
different  colored  soaps  to  match  the  different  colored 
rooms,  and  Beth’s  setting  the  table  for  the  first  meal. 

“  Are  you  satisfied  ?  Does  it  seem  like  home,  and  do 
you  feel  as  if  you  should  be  happy  here?  ”  asked  Mrs. 
March,  as  she  and  her  daughter  went  through  the  new 
kingdom,  arm-in-arm  ;  for  just  then  they  seemed  to  cling 
together  more  tenderly  than  ever. 

“Yes,  mother,  perfectly  satisfied,  thanks  to  you  all, 
and  so  happy  that  I  can’t  talk  about  it,”  answered  Meg, 
with  a  look  that  was  better  than  words. 

“  If  she  only  had  a  servant  or  two  it  would  be 
all  right,”  said  Amy,  coming  out  of  the  parlor,  where 
she  had  been  trying  to  decide  whether  the  bronze  Mer¬ 
cury  looked  best  on  the  whatnot  or  the  mantle-piece. 

“  Mother  and  I  have  talked  that  over,  and  I  have 
made  up  mind  to  try  her  way  first.  There  will  be  so 
little  to  do,  that,  with  Lotty  to  run  my  errands  and  help 
me  here  and  there,  I  shall  only  have  enough  work  to 
keep  me  from  getting  lazy  or  homesick,”  answered  Meg 
tranquilly. 

“  Sallie  Moffat  has  four,”  began  Amy. 

“  If  Meg  had  four  the  house  would  n’t  hold  them,  and 
master  and  missis  would  have  to  camp  in  the  garden,” 
broke  in  Jo,  who,  enveloped  in  a  big  blue  pinafore,  was 
giving  the  last  polish  to  the  door-handles. 

“  Sallie  is  n’t  a  poor  man’s  wife,  and  many  maids  are 
in  keeping  with  her  fine  establishment.  Meg  and  John 
begin  humbly,  but  I  have  a  feeling  that  there  will  be 
quite  as  much  happiness  in  the  little  house  as  in  the  big 
one.  It ’s  a  great  mistake  for  young  girls  like  Meg  to  leave 


LxOSSip  303 

themselves  nothing  to  do  but  dress,  give  orders,  and  gos¬ 
sip.  When  I  was  first  married,  I  used  to  long  for  my 
new  clothes  to  wear  out  or  get  torn,  so  that  I  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  mending  them ;  for  I  got  heartily 
sick  of  doing  fancy  work  and  tending  my  pocket 
handkerchief.” 

“  Why  did  n’t  you  go  into  the  kitchen  and  make 
messes,  as  Sallie  says  she  does,  to  amuse  herself,  though 
they  never  turn  out  well,  and  the  servants  laugh  at  her,” 
said  Meg. 

“  I  did,  after  a  while;  not  to  ‘  mess,’  but  to  learn  of 
Hannah  how  things  should  be  done,  that  my  servants 
need  not  laugh  at  me.  It  was  play  then ;  but  there 
came  a  time  when  I  was  truly  grateful  that  I  not  only 
possessed  the  will  but  the  power  to  cook  wholesome  food 
for  my  little  girls,  and  help  myself  when  I  could  no  longer 
afford  to  hire  help.  You  begin  at  the  other  end,  Meg, 
dear;  but  the  lessons  you  learn  now  will  be  of  use  to 
you  by  and  by,  when  John  is  a  richer  man,  for  the  mis¬ 
tress  of  a  house,  however  splendid,  should  know  how 
work  ought  to  be  done,  if  she  wishes  to  be  well  and 
honestly  served.” 

“  Yes,  mother,  I  ’m  sure  of  that,”  said  Meg,  listening 
respectfully  to  the  little  lecture;  for  the  best  of  women 
will  hold  forth  upon  the  all-absorbing  subject  of  house¬ 
keeping.  “  Do  you  know  I  like  this  room  most  of  all  in 
my  baby-house,”  added  Meg,  a  minute  after,  as  they  went 
upstairs,  and  she  looked  into  her  well-stored  linen-closet. 

Beth  was  there,  laying  the  snowy  piles  smoothly  on 
the  shelves,  and  exulting  over  the  goodly  array.  All 
three  laughed  as  Meg  spoke ;  for  that  linen-closet  was 
a  joke.  You  see,  having  said  that  if  Meg  married  “  that 
Brooke  ”  she  should  n’t  have  a  cent  of  her  money,  Aunt 
March  was  rather  in  a  quandary,  when  time  had  appeased 


Little  Women 


3°4 

her  wrath  and  made  her  repent  her  vow.  She  never  broke 
her  word,  and  was  much  exercised  in  her  mind  how  to 
get  round  it,  and  at  last  devised  a  plan  whereby  she 
could  satisfy  herself.  Mrs.  Carrol,  Florence’s  mamma, 
was  ordered  to  buy,  have  made,  and  marked,  a  generous 
supply  of  house  and  table  linen,  and  send  it  as  her  pres¬ 
ent,  all  of  which  was  faithfully  done ;  but  the  secret 
leaked  out,  and  was  greatly  enjoyed  by  the  family;  for 
Aunt  March  tried  to  look  utterly  unconscious,  and 
insisted  that  she  could  give  nothing  but  the  old-fash¬ 
ioned  pearls,  long  promised  to  the  first  bride. 

“  That ’s  a  housewifely  taste  which  I  am  glad  to  see. 
I  had  a  young  friend  who  set  up  housekeeping  with  six 
sheets,  but  she  had  finger  bowls  for  company,  and  that 
satisfied  her,”  said  Mrs.  March,  patting  the  damask 
tablecloths,  with  a  truly  feminine  appreciation  of  their 
fineness. 

“  I  have  n’t  a  single  finger-bowl,  but  this  is  a  ‘  set  out  ’ 
that  will  last  me  all  my  days,  Hannah  says;  ”  and  Meg 
looked  quite  contented,  as  well  she  might. 

“Toodles  is  coming,”  cried  Jo  from  below;  and  they 
all  went  down  to  meet  Laurie,  whose  weekly  visit  was 
an  important  event  in  their  quiet  lives. 

A  tall,  broad-shouldered  young  fellow,  with  a  cropped 
head,  a  felt-basin  of  a  hat,  and  a  fly-away  coat,  came 
tramping  down  the  road  at  a  great  pace,  walked  over 
the  low  fence  without  stopping  to  open  the  gate, 
straight  up  to  Mrs.  March,  with  both  hands  out,  and  a 
hearty  — 

“  Here  I  am,  mother  !  Yes,  it ’s  all  right.” 

The  last  words  were  in  answer  to  the  look  the  elder 
lady  gave  him ;  a  kindly  questioning  look,  which  the 
handsome  eyes  met  so  frankly  that  the  little  ceremony 
closed,  as  usual,  with  a  motherly  kiss. 


vjOSSip  305 

“For  Mrs.  John  Brooke,  with  the  maker’s  congratu¬ 
lations  and  compliments.  Bless  you,  Beth !  What  a 
refreshing  spectacle  you  are,  Jo.  Amy,  you  are  get¬ 
ting  altogether  too  handsome  for  a  single  lady.” 

As  Laurie  spoke,  he  delivered  a  brown  paper  parcel 
to  Meg,  pulled  Beth’s  hair-ribbon,  stared  at  Jo’s  big  pin¬ 
afore,  and  fell  into  an  attitude  of  mock  rapture  before 
Amy,  then  shook  hands  all  round,  and  every  one  began 
to  talk. 

“  Where  is  John?”  asked  Meg  anxiously. 

“  Stopped  to  get  the  license  for  to-morrow,  ma’am.” 

“Which  side  won  the  last  match,  Teddy?”  inquired 
Jo,  who  persisted  in  feeling  an  interest  in  manly  sports 
despite  her  nineteen  years. 

“  Ours,  of  course.  Wish  you ’d  been  there  to  see.” 

“How  is  the  lovely  Miss  Randal?”  asked  Amy, 
with  a  significant  smile. 

“  More  cruel  than  ever;  don’t  you  see  how  I’m  pin¬ 
ing  away?”  and  Laurie  gave  his  broad  chest  a  sound¬ 
ing  slap  and  heaved  a  melodramatic  sigh. 

“What’s  the  last  joke?  Undo  the  bundle  and  see, 
Meg,”  said  Beth,  eying  the  knobby  parcel  with  curiosity. 

“  It ’s  a  useful  thing  to  have  in  the  house  in  case  of 
fire  or  thieves,”  observed  Laurie,  as  a  watchman’s  rattle 
appeared,  amid  the  laughter  of  the  girls. 

“  Any  time  when  John  is  away,  and  you  get  fright¬ 
ened,  Mrs.  Meg,  just  swing  that  out  of  the  front  window, 
and  it  will  rouse  the  neighborhood  in  a  jiffy.  Nice 
thing,  isn’t  it?”  and  Laurie  gave  them  a  sample  of  its 
powers  that  made  them  cover  up  their  ears. 

“  There ’s  gratitude  for  you  !  and  speaking  of  grati¬ 
tude  reminds  me  to  mention  that  you  may  thank  Han¬ 
nah  for  saving  your  wedding-cake  from  destruction.  I 

saw  it  going  into  your  house  as  I  came  by,  and  if  she 

20 


Little  Women 


3°6 

had  n’t  defended  it  manfully  I ’d  have  had  a  pick  at  it, 
for  it  looked  like  a  remarkably  plummy  one.” 

“  I  wonder  if  you  will  ever  grow  up,  Laurie,”  said 
Meg,  in  a  matronly  tone. 

“  I ’m  doing  my  best,  ma’am,  but  can’t  get  much 
higher,  I ’m  afraid,  as  six  feet  is  about  all  men  can 
do  in  these  degenerate  days,”  responded  the  young 
gentleman,  whose  head  was  about  level  with  the  little 
chandelier. 

“  I  suppose  it  would  be  profanation  to  eat  anything 
in  this  spick  and  span  new  bower,  so,  as  I ’m  tremen¬ 
dously  hungry,  I  propose  an  adjournment,”  he  added 
presently. 

“  Mother  and  I  are  going  to  wait  for  John.  There 
are  some  last  things  to  settle,”  said  Meg,  bustling 
away. 

“  Beth  and  I  are  going  over  to  Kitty  Bryant’s  to  get 
more  flowers  for  to-morrow,”  added  Amy,  tying  a  pictur¬ 
esque  hat  over  her  picturesque  curls,  and  enjoying  the 
effect  as  much  as  anybody. 

“  Come,  Jo,  don’t  desert  a  fellow.  I ’m  in  such  a  state 
of  exhaustion  I  can’t  get  home  without  help.  Don’t 
take  off  your  apron,  whatever  you  do  ;  it ’s  peculiarly 
becoming,”  said  Laurie,  as  Jo  bestowed  his  especial  aver¬ 
sion  in  her  capacious  pocket,  and  offered  him  her  arm 
to  support  his  feeble  steps. 

“  Now,  Teddy,  I  want  to  talk  seriously  to  you  about 
to-morrow,”  began  Jo,  as  they  strolled  away  together. 
“You  must  promise  to  behave  well,  and  not  cut  up  any 
pranks,  and  spoil  our  plans.” 

“  Not  a  prank.” 

“  And  don’t  say  funny  things  when  we  ought  to  be 
sober.” 

“  I  never  do ;  you  are  the  one  for  that.” 


uossip  307 

“  And  I  implore  you  not  to  look  at  me  during  the  cer¬ 
emony;  I  shall  certainly  laugh  if  you  do.” 

“You  won’t  see  me;  you’ll  be  crying  so  hard  that 
the  thick  fog  round  you  will  obscure  the  prospect.” 

“  I  never  cry  unless  for  some  great  affliction.” 

“Such  as  fellows  going  to  college,  hey?”  cut  in 
Laurie,  with  a  suggestive  laugh. 

“  Don’t  be  a  peacock.  I  only  moaned  a  trifle  to  keep 
the  girls  company.” 

“Exactly.  I  say,  Jo,  how  is  grandpa  this  week; 
pretty  amiable  ?  ” 

“  Very ;  why,  have  you  got  into  a  scrape,  and  want 
to  know  how  he  ’ll  take  it?  ”  asked  Jo  rather  sharply. 

“Now,  Jo,  do  you  think  I  ’d  look  your  mother  in  the 
face,  and  say  4  All  right,’  if  it  was  n’t  ?  ”  and  Laurie  stopped 
short,  with  an  injured  air. 

“No,  I  don’t.” 

“  Then  don’t  go  and  be  suspicious;  I  only  want  some 
money,”  said  Laurie,  walking  on  again,  appeased  by  her 
hearty  tone. 

“  You  spend  a  great  deal,  Teddy.” 

“  Bless  you, /don’t  spend  it;  it  spends  itself,  some¬ 
how,  and  is  gone  before  I  know  it.” 

“  You  are  so  generous  and  kind-hearted  that  you  let 
people  borrow,  and  can’t  say  4  No  ’  to  any  one.  We 
heard  about  Henshaw,  and  all  you  did  for  him.  If  you 
always  spent  money  in  that  way,  no  one  would  blame 
you,”  said  Jo  warmly. 

“  Oh,  he  made  a  mountain  out  of  a  mole-hill.  You 
would  n’t  have  me  let  that  fine  fellow  work  himself  to 
death,  just  for  the  want  of  a  little  help,  when  he  is  worth 
a  dozen  of  us  lazy  chaps,  would  you?  ” 

“  Of  course  not;  but  I  don’t  see  the  use  of  your  hav¬ 
ing  seventeen  waistcoats,  endless  neckties,  and  a  new  hat 


Little  Women 


3°8 

every  time  you  come  home.  I  thought  you ’d  got  over 
the  dandy  period  ;  but  every  now  and  then  it  breaks 
out  in  a  new  spot.  Just  now  it’s  the  fashion  to  be  hide¬ 
ous, —  to  make  your  head  look  like  a  scrubbing-brush, 
wear  a  strait-jacket,  orange  gloves,  and  clumping,  square- 
toed  boots.  If  it  was  cheap  ugliness,  I ’d  say  nothing; 
but  it  costs  as  much  as  the  other,  and  I  don’t  get  any 
satisfaction  out  of  it.” 

Laurie  threw  back  his  head,  and  laughed  so  heartily 
at  this  attack,  that  the  felt-basin  fell  off,  and  Jo  walked 
on  it,  which  insult  only  afforded  him  an  opportunity  for 
expatiating  on  the  advantages  of  a  rough-and-ready 
costume,  as  he  folded  up  the  maltreated  hat,  and  stuffed 
it  into  his  pocket. 

“  Don’t  lecture  any  more,  there ’s  a  good  soul !  I 
have  enough  all  through  the  week,  and  like  to  enjoy  my¬ 
self  when  I  come  home.  I  ’ll  get  myself  up  regardless 
of  expense,  to-morrow,  and  be  a  satisfaction  to  my 
friends.” 

“  I  ’ll  leave  you  in  peace  if  you  ’ll  only  let  your  hair 
grow.  I ’m  not  aristocratic,  but  I  do  object  to  being 
seen  with  a  person  who  looks  like  a  young  prize-fighter,” 
observed  Jo  severely. 

“This  unassuming  style  promotes  study;  that ’s  why 
we  adopt  it,”  returned  Laurie,  who  certainly  could  not 
be  accused  of  vanity,  having  voluntarily  sacrificed  a 
handsome  curly  crop  to  the  demand  for  quarter-of-an- 
inch-long  stubble. 

“By  the  way,  Jo,  I  think  that  little  Parker  is  really 
getting  desperate  about  Amy.  He  talks  of  her  con¬ 
stantly,  writes  poetry,  and  moons  about  in  a  most  sus¬ 
picious  manner.  He ’d  better  nip  his  little  passion  in 
the  bud,  hadn’t  he?”  added  Laurie,  in  a  confidential, 
elder-brotherly  tone,  after  a  minute’s  silence. 


3°9 


“Of  course  he  had;  we  don’t  want  any  more  marry¬ 
ing  in  this  family  for  years  to  come.  Mercy  on  us,  what 
are  the  children  thinking  of  ?”  and  Jo  looked  as  much 
scandalized  as  if  Amy  and  little  Parker  were  not  yet  in 
their  teens. 

“  It ’s  a  fast  age,  and  I  don’t  know  what  we  are  com¬ 
ing  to,  ma’am.  You  are  a  mere  infant,  but  you’ll  go 
next,  Jo,  and  we  ’ll  be  left  lamenting,”  said  Laurie,  shak¬ 
ing  his  head  over  the  degeneracy  of  the  times. 

“  Don’t  be  alarmed  ;  I  ’m  not  one  of  the  agreeable 
sort.  Nobody  will  want  me,  and  it ’s  a  mercy,  for  there 
should  always  be  one  old  maid  in  a  family.” 

“You  won’t  give  any  one  a  chance,”  said  Laurie,  with 
a  sidelong  glance,  and  a  little  more  color  than  before 
in  his  sunburnt  face.  “  You  won’t  show  the  soft  side  of 
your  character ;  and  if  a  fellow  gets  a  peep  at  it  by  acci¬ 
dent,  and  can’t  help  showing  that  he  likes  it,  you  treat 
him  as  Mrs.  Gummidge  did  her  sweetheart,  —  throw  cold 
water  over  him,  —  and  get  so  thorny  no  one  dares  touch 
or  look  at  you.” 

“I  don’t  like  that  sort  of  thing;  I’m  too  busy  to 
be  worried  with  nonsense,  and  I  think  it ’s  dreadful  to 
break  up  families  so.  Now  don’t  say  any  more  about  it; 
Meg’s  wedding  has  turned  all  our  heads,  and  we  talk 
of  nothing  but  lovers  and  such  absurdities.  I  don’t 
wish  to  get  cross,  so  let ’s  change  the  subject;  ”  and  Jo 
looked  quite  ready  to  fling  cold  water  on  the  slightest 
provocation. 

Whatever  his  feelings  might  have  been,  Laurie  found 
a  vent  for  them  in  a  long  low  whistle,  and  the  fearful 
prediction,  as  they  parted  at  the  gate,  “  Mark  my  words, 
Jo,  you  ’ll  go  next.” 


3 IO 


Little  Women 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  FIRST  WEDDING 

THE  June  roses  over  the  porch  were  awake 
bright  and  early  on  that  morning,  rejoicing 
with  all  their  hearts  in  the  cloudless  sunshine, 
like  friendly  little  neighbors,  as  they  were.  Quite  flushed 
with  excitement  were  their  ruddy  faces,  as  they  swung 
in  the  wind,  whispering  to  one  another  what  they  had 
seen  ;  for  some  peeped  in  at  the  dining-room  windows, 
where  the  feast  was  spread,  some  climbed  up  to  nod  and 
smile  at  the  sisters  as  they  dressed  the  bride,  others 
waved  a  welcome  to  those  who  came  and  went  on  various 
errands  in  garden,  porch,  and  hall,  and  all,  from  the 
rosiest  full-blown  flower  to  the  palest  baby-bud,  offered 
their  tribute  of  beauty  and  fragrance  to  the  gentle  mis¬ 
tress  who  had  loved  and  tended  them  so  long. 

Meg  looked  very  like  a  rose  herself;  for  all  that  was 
best  and  sweetest  in  heart  and  soul  seemed  to  bloom 
into  her  face  that  day,  making  it  fair  and  tender,  with  a 
charm  more  beautiful  than  beauty.  Neither  silk,  lace, 
nor  orange-flowers  would  she  have.  “  I  don’t  want  to 
look  strange  or  fixed  up  to-day,”  she  said.  “  I  don’t 
want  a  fashionable  wedding,  but  only  those  about  me 
whom  I  love,  and  to  them  I  wish  to  look  and  be  my 
familiar  self.  ” 

So  she  made  her  wedding  gown  herself,  sewing  into 
it  the  tender  hopes  and  innocent  romances  of  a  girlish 
heart.  Her  sisters  braided  up  her  pretty  hair,  and  the 
only  ornaments  she  wore  were  the  lilies  of  the  valley, 
which  “  her  John  ”  liked  best  of  all  the  flowers  that 
grew. 


The  First  Wedding  3  1 1 

“You  do  look  just  like  our  own  dear  Meg,  only  so 
very  sweet  and  lovely  that  I  should  hug  you  if  it 
would  n’t  crumple  your  dress,”  cried  Amy,  surveying 
her  with  delight,  when  all  was  done. 

“  Then  I  am  satisfied.  But  please  hug  and  kiss  me, 
every  one,  and  don’t  mind  my  dress;  I  want  a  great 
many  crumples  of  this  sort  put  into  it  to-day;”  and 
Meg  opened  her  arms  to  her  sisters,  who  clung  about 
her  with  April  faces  for  a  minute,  feeling  that  the  new 
love  had  not  changed  the  old. 

“  Now  I ’m  going  to  tie  John’s  cravat  for  him,  and 
then  to  stay  a  few  minutes  with  father  quietly  in  the 
study;”  and  Meg  ran  down  to  perform  these  little 
ceremonies,  and  then  to  follow  her  mother  wherevei 
she  went,  conscious  that,  in  spite  of  the  smiles  oiv. 
the  motherly  face,  there  was  a  secret  sorrow  hid  in  the 
motherly  heart  at  the  flight  of  the  first  bird  from  the 
nest. 

As  the  younger  girls  stand  together,  giving  the  last 
touches  to  their  simple  toilet,  it  may  be  a  good  time  to 
tell  of  a  few  changes  which  three  years  have  wrought  in 
their  appearance;  for  all  are  looking  their  best  just 
now. 

Jo’s  angles  are  much  softened;  she  has  learned  to 
carry  herself  with  ease,  if  not  grace.  The  curly  crop 
has  lengthened  into  a  thick  coil,  more  becoming  to  the 
small  head  atop  of  the  tall  figure.  There  is  a  fresh  color 
in  her  brown  cheeks,  a  soft  shine  in  her  eyes,  and  only 
gentle  words  fall  from  her  sharp  tongue  to-day. 

Beth  has  grown  slender,  pale,  and  more  quiet  than 
ever ;  the  beautiful,  kind  eyes  are  larger,  and  in  them 
lies  an  expression  that  saddens  one,  although  it  is  not 
sad  itself.  It  is  the  shadow  of  pain  which  touches  the 
young  face  with  such  pathetic  patience ;  but  Beth  seldom 


312  Little  Women 

complains,  and  always  speaks  hopefully  of  “  being  better 
soon.” 

Amy  is  with  truth  considered  “  the  flower  of  the 
family;  ”  for  at  sixteen  she  has  the  air  and  bearing  of  a 
full-grown  woman  —  not  beautiful,  but  possessed  of  that 
indescribable  charm  called  grace.  One  saw  it  in  the 
lines  of  her  figure,  the  make  and  motion  of  her  hands, 
the  flow  of  her  dress,  the  droop  of  her  hair,  —  uncon¬ 
scious,  yet  harmonious,  and  as  attractive  to  many  as 
beauty  itself.  Amy’s  nose  still  afflicted  her,  for  it  never 
would  grow  Grecian  ;  so  did  her  mouth,  being  too  wide, 
and  having  a  decided  chin.  These  offending  features 
gave  character  to  her  whole  face,  but  she  never  could 
see  it,  and  consoled  herself  with  her  wonderfully  fair 
complexion,  keen  blue  eyes,  and  curls,  more  golden  and 
abundant  than  ever. 

All  three  wore  suits  of  thin  silver  gray  (their  best  gowns 
for  the  summer),  with  blush-roses  in  hair  and  bosom ; 
and  all  three  looked  just  what  they  were,  —  fresh-faced, 
happy-hearted  girls,  pausing  a  moment  in  their  busy 
lives  to  read  with  wistful  eyes  the  sweetest  chapter  in 
the  romance  of  womanhood. 

There  were  to  be  no  ceremonious  performances,  every¬ 
thing  was  to  be  as  natural  and  homelike  as  possible ;  so 
when  Aunt  March  arrived,  she  was  scandalized  to  see 
the  bride  come  running  to  welcome  and  lead  her  in,  to 
find  the  bridegroom  fastening  up  a  garland  that  had 
fallen  down,  and  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  paternal 
minister  marching  upstairs  with  a  grave  countenance, 
and  a  wine-bottle  under  each  arm. 

“  Upon  my  word,  here ’s  a  state  of  things  !  ”  cried  the 
old  lady,  taking  the  seat  of  honor  prepared  for  her, 
and  settling  the  folds  of  her  lavender  moire  with  a  great 
rustle.  “You  oughtn’t  to  be  seen  till  the  last  minute, 
child.” 


The  First  Wedding 


3 1 3 

“  I ’m  not  a  show,  aunty,  and  no  one  is  coming  to  stare 
at  me,  to  criticise  my  dress,  or  count  the  cost  of  my 
luncheon.  I ’m  too  happy  to  care  what  any  one  says  or 
thinks,  and  I  ’m  going  to  have  my  little  wedding  just  as 
I  like  it.  John,  dear,  here’s  your  hammer;  ”  and  away 
went  Meg  to  help  “  that  man  ”  in  his  highly  improper 
employment. 

Mr.  Brooke  did  n’t  even  say  “  Thank  you,”  but  as  he 
stooped  for  the  unromantic  tool,  he  kissed  his  little  bride 
behind  the  folding-door,  with  a  look  that  made  Aunt 
March  whisk  out  her  pocket-handkerchief,  with  a  sudden 
dew  in  her  sharp  old  eyes. 

A  crash,  a  cry,  and  a  laugh  from  Laurie,  accompanied 
by  the  indecorous  exclamation,  “Jupiter  Ammon  !  Jo ’s 
upset  the  cake  again !  ”  caused  a  momentary  flurry, 
which  was  hardly  over  when  a  flock  of  cousins  arrived, 
and  “the  party  came  in,”  as  Beth  used  to  say  when  a 
child. 

“  Don’t  let  that  young  giant  come  near  me  ;  he  worries 
me  worse  than  mosquitoes,”  whispered  the  old  lady  to 
Amy,  as  the  rooms  filled,  and  Laurie’s  black  head  towered 
above  the  rest. 

“  He  has  promised  to  be  very  good  to-day,  and  he  can 
be  perfectly  elegant  if  he  likes,”  returned  Amy,  gliding 
away  to  warn  Hercules  to  beware  of  the  dragon,  which 
warning  caused  him  to  haunt  the  old  lady  with  a  devo¬ 
tion  that  nearly  distracted  her. 

There  was  no  bridal  procession,  but  a  sudden  silence 
fell  upon  the  room  as  Mr.  March  and  the  young  pair 
took  their  places  under  the  green  arch.  Mother  and 
sisters  gathered  close,  as  if  loath  to  give  Meg  up ;  the 
fatherly  voice  broke  more  than  once,  which  only  seemed 
to  make  the  service  more  beautiful  and  solemn';  the 
bridegroom’s  hand  trembled  visibly,  and  no  one  heard 


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3*4 

his  replies;  but  Meg  looked  straight  up  in  her  husband’s 
eyes,  and  said,  “  I  will !  ”  with  such  tender  trust  in  her 
own  face  and  voice  that  her  mother’s  heart  rejoiced,  and 
Aunt  March  sniffed  audibly. 

Jo  did  not  cry,  though  she  was  very  near  it  once,  and 
was  only  saved  from  a  demonstration  by  the  conscious¬ 
ness  that  Laurie  was  staring  fixedly  at  herewith  a  comi¬ 
cal  mixture  of  merriment  and  emotion  in  his  wicked 
black  eyes.  Beth  kept  her  face  hidden  on  her  mother’s 
shoulder,  but  Amy  stood  like  a  graceful  statue,  with  a 
most  becoming  ray  of  sunshine  touching  her  white 
forehead  and  the  flower  in  her  hair. 

It  was  n’t  at  all  the  thing,  I  ’m  afraid,  but  the  minute 
she  was  fairly  married,  Meg  cried,  “  The  first  kiss  for 
Marmee !  ”  and,  turning,  gave  it  with  her  heart  on 
her  lips.  During  the  next  fifteen  minutes  she  looked 
more  like  a  rose  than  ever,  for  every  one  availed  them¬ 
selves  of  their  privileges  to  the  fullest  extent,  from  Mr. 
Laurence  to  old  Hannah,  who,  adorned  with  a  head¬ 
dress  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made,  fell  upon  her  in 
the  hall,  crying,  with  a  sob  and  a  chuckle,  “  Bless  you, 
deary,  a  hundred  times !  The  cake  ain’t  hurt  a  mite, 
and  everything  looks  lovely.” 

Everybody  cleared  up  after  that,  and  said  something 
brilliant,  or  tried  to,  which  did  just  as  well,  for  laughter 
is  ready  when  hearts  are  light.  There  was  no  display 
of  gifts,  for  they  were  already  in  the  little  house,  nor 
was  there  an  elaborate  breakfast,  but  a  plentiful  lunch 
of  cake  and  fruit,  dressed  with  flowers.  Mr.  Laurence 
and  Aunt  March  shrugged  and  smiled  at  one  another 
when  water.,  lemonade,  and  coffee  were  found  to  be  the 
only  sorts  of  nectar  which  the  three  Hebes  carried 
round.  No  one  said  anything,  however,  till  Laurie,  who 
insisted  on  serving  the  bride,  appeared  before  her,  with 


The  First  Wedding  315 

a  loaded  salver  in  his  hand  and  a  puzzled  expression  on 
his  face. 

“  Has  Jo  smashed  all  the  bottles  by  accident?  ”  he 
whispered,  “  or  am  I  merely  laboring  under  a  delusion 
that  I  saw  some  lying  about  loose  this  morning?  ” 

“No;  your  grandfather  kindly  offered  11s  his  best, 
and  Aunt  March  actually  sent  some,  but  father  put  away 
a  little  for  Beth,  and  despatched  the  rest  to  the  Soldiers’ 
Home.  You  know  he  thinks  that  wine  should  be  used 
only  in  illness,  and  mother  says  that  neither  she  nor  her 
daughters  will  ever  offer  it  to  any  young  man  under 
her  roof.” 

Meg  spoke  seriously,  and  expected  to  see  Laurie 
frown  or  laugh ;  but  he  did  neither,  for  after  a  quick 
look  at  her,  he  said,  in  his  impetuous  way,  “  I  like  that ! 
for  I ’ve  seen  enough  harm  done  to  wish  other  women 
would  think  as  you  do.” 

“You  are  not  made  wise  by  experience,  I  hope?” 
and  there  was  an  anxious  accent  in  Meg’s  voice. 

“  No ;  I  give  you  my  word  for  it.  Don’t  think  too 
well  of  me,  either;  this  is  not  one  of  my  temptations. 
Being  brought  up  where  wine  is  as  common  as  water, 
and  almost  as  harmless,  I  don’t  care  for  it;  but  when  a 
pretty  girl  offers  it,  one  does  n’t  like  to  refuse,  you  see.” 

“  But  you  will,  for  the  sake  of  others,  if  not  for  your 
own.  Come,  Laurie,  promise,  and  give  me  one  more 
reason  to  call  this  the  happiest  day  of  my  life.” 

A  demand  so  sudden  and  so  serious  made  the  young 
man  hesitate  a  moment,  for  ridicule  is  often  harder 
to  bear  than  self-denial.  Meg  knew  that  if  he  gave 
the  promise  he  would  keep  it  at  all  costs ;  and,  feeling 
her  power,  used  it  as  a  woman  may  for  her  friend’s 
good.  She  did  not  speak,  but  she  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  face  made  very  eloquent  by  happiness,  and  a 


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3  1 6 

smile  which  said,  “  No  one  can  refuse  me  anything 
to-day.”  Laurie  certainly  could  not;  and,  with  an 
answering  smile,  he  gave  her  his  hand,  saying  heartily, 
“  I  promise,  Mrs.  Brooke  !  ” 

“  I  thank  you,  very,  very  much.” 

“  And  I  drink  ‘  long  life  to  your  resolution,’  Teddy,” 
cried  Jo,  baptizing  him  with  a  splash  of  lemonade, 
as  she  waved  her  glass,  and  beamed  approvingly 
upon  him. 

So  the  toast  was  drunk,  the  pledge  made,  and  loyally 
kept,  in  spite  of  many  temptations;  for,  with  instinctive 
wisdom,  the  girls  had  seized  a  happy  moment  to  do 
their  friend  a  service,  for  which  he  thanked  them  all 
his  life. 

After  lunch,  people  strolled  about,  by  twos  and 
threes,  through  house  and  garden,  enjoying  the  sunshine 
without  and  within.  Meg  and  John  happened  to  be 
standing  together  in  the  middle  of  the  grass-plot,  when 
Laurie  was  seized  with  an  inspiration  which  put  the 
finishing  touch  to  this  unfashionable  wedding. 

“  All  the  married  people  take  hands  and  dance  round 
the  new-made  husband  and  wife,  as  the  Germans  do, 
while  we  bachelors  and  spinsters  prance  in  couples  out¬ 
side  !  ”  cried  Laurie,  promenading  down  the  path  with 
Amy,  with  such  infectious  spirit  and  skill  that  every  one 
else  followed  their  example  without  a  murmur.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  March,  Aunt  and  Uncle  Carrol,  began  it; 
others  rapidly  joined  in;  even  Sallie  Moffat,  after  a 
moment’s  hesitation,  threw  her  train  over  her  arm,  and 
whisked  Ned  into  the  ring.  But  the  crowning  joke  was 
Mr.  Laurence  and  Aunt  March ;  for  when  the  stately 
old  gentleman  chassied  solemnly  up  to  the  old  lady,  she 
just  tucked  her  cane  under  her  arm,  and  hopped  briskly 
away  to  join  hands  with  the  rest,  and  dance  about  the 


The  First  Wedding  317 


bridal  pair,  while  the  young  folks  pervaded  the  garden, 
like  butterflies  on  a  midsummer  day. 

Want  of  breath  brought  the  impromptu  ball  to  a 
close,  and  then  people  began  to  go. 

“  I  wish  you  well,  my  dear,  I  heartily  wish  you  well ; 
but  I  think  you  ’ll  be  sorry  for  it,”  said  Aunt  March  to 
Meg,  adding  to  the  bridegroom,  as  he  led  her  to  the 
carriage,  “You’ve  got  a  treasure,  young  man,  see  that 
you  deserve  it.” 

“That  is  the  prettiest  wedding  I’ve  been  to  for  an 
age,  Ned,  and  I  don’t  see  why,  for  there  was  n’t  a  bit  of 
style  about  it,”  observed  Mrs.  Moffat  to  her  husband,  as 
they  drove  away. 

“  Laurie,  my  lad,  if  you  ever  want  to  indulge  in  this 
sort  of  thing,  get  one  of  those  little  girls  to  help  you, 
and  I  shall  be  perfectly  satisfied,”  said  Mr.  Laurence, 
settling  himself  in  his  easy-chair  to  rest,  after  the  excite¬ 
ment  of  the  morning. 

“  I  ’ll  do  my  best  to  gratify  you,  sir,”  was  Laurie’s 
unusually  dutiful  reply,  as  he  carefully  unpinned  the 
posy  Jo  had  put  in  his  button-hole. 

The  little  house  was  not  far  away,  and  the  only  bridal 
journey  Meg  had  was  the  quiet  walk  with  John,  from 
the  old  home  to  the  new.  When  she  came  down,  look¬ 
ing  like  a  pretty  Quakeress  in  her  dove-colored  suit  and 
straw  bonnet  tied  with  white,  they  all  gathered  about 
her  to  say  “  good-by,”  as  tenderly  as  if  she  had  been 
going  to  make  the  grand  tour. 

“  Don’t  feel  that  I  am  separated  from  you,  Marmee 
dear,  or  that  I  love  you  any  the  less  for  loving  John  so 
much,”  she  said,  clinging  to  her  mother,  with  full  eyes, 
for  a  moment.  “  I  shall  come  every  day,  father,  and 
expect  to  keep  my  old  place  in  all  your  hearts,  though  I 
am  married.  Beth  is  going  to  be  with  me  a  great  deal, 


318  Little  Women 

and  the  other  girls  will  drop  in  now  and  then  to  laugh 
at  my  housekeeping  struggles.  Thank  you  all  for  my 
happy  wedding-day.  Good-by,  good-by  !  ” 

They  stood  watching  her,  with  faces  full  of  love  and 
hope  and  tender  pride,  as  she  walked  away,  leaning  on 
her  husband’s  arm,  with  her  hands  full  of  flowers,  and 
the  June  sunshine  brightening  her  happy  face, —  and 
so  Meg’s  married  life  began. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
ARTISTIC  ATTEMPTS 

IT  takes  people  a  long  time  to  learn  the  difference 
between  talent  and  genius,  especially  ambitious 
young  men  and  women.  Amy  was  learning  this 
distinction  through  much  tribulation ;  for,  mistaking 
enthusiasm  for  inspiration,  she  attempted  every  branch 
of  art  with  youthful  audacity.  For  a  long  time  there 
was  a  lull  in  the  “  mud-pie  ”  business,  and  she  devoted 
herself  to  the  finest  pen-and-ink  drawing,  in  which  she 
showed  such  taste  and  skill  that  her  graceful  handiwork 
proved  both  pleasant  and  profitable.  But  overstrained 
eyes  soon  caused  pen  and  ink  to  be  laid  aside  for  a  bold 
attempt  at  poker-sketching. 

While  this  attack  lasted,  the  family  lived  in  constant 
fear  of  a  conflagration;  for  the  odor  of  burning  wood 
pervaded  the  house  at  all  hours  ;  smoke  issued  from 
attic  and  shed  with  alarming  frequency,  red-hot  pokers 
lay  about  promiscuously,  and  Hannah  never  went  to 
bed  without  a  pail  of  water  and  the  dinner-bell  at  her 
door,  in  case  of  fire.  Raphael’s  face  was  found  boldly 
executed  on  the  under  side  of  the  moulding-board,  and 


Artistic  Attempts  319 

Bacchus  on  the  head  of  a  beer-barrel ;  a  chanting 
cherub  adorned  the  cover  of  the  sugar-bucket,  and  at¬ 
tempts  to  portray  Romeo  and  Juliet  supplied  kindlings 
for  some  time. 

From  fire  to  oil  was  a  natural  transition  for  burnt  fin¬ 
gers,  and  Amy  fell  to  painting  with  undiminished  ardor. 
An  artist  friend  fitted  her  out  with  his  cast-off  palettes, 
brushes,  and  colors;  and  she  daubed  away,  producing 
pastoral  and  marine  views  such  as  were  never  seen  on 
land  or  sea.  Her  monstrosities  in  the  way  of  cattle 
would  have  taken  prizes  at  an  agricultural  fair ;  and  the 
perilous  pitching  of  her  vessels  would  have  produced 
sea-sickness  in  the  most  nautical  observer,  if  the  utter 
disregard  to  all  known  rules  of  shipbuilding  and  rigging 
had  not  convulsed  him  with  laughter  at  the  first  glance. 
Swarthy  boys  and  dark-eyed  Madonnas,  staring  at  you 
from  one  corner  of  the  studio,  suggested  Murillo;  oily- 
brown  shadows  of  faces,  with  a  lurid  streak  in  the  wrong 
place,  meant  Rembrandt;  buxom  ladies  and  dropsical 
infants,  Rubens;  and  Turner  appeared  in  tempests  of 
blue  thunder,  orange  lightning,  brown  rain,  and  purple 
clouds,  with  a  tomato-colored  splash  in  the  middle,  which 
might  be  the  sun  or  a  buoy,  a  sailor’s  shirt  or  a  king’s 
robe,  as  the  spectator  pleased. 

Charcoal  portraits  came  next ;  and  the  entire  family 
hung  in  a  row,  looking  as  wild  and  crocky  as  if  just 
evoked  from  a  coal-bin.  Softened  into  crayon  sketches, 
they  did  better  ;  for  the  likenesses  were  good,  and  Amy’s 
hair,  Jo’s  nose,  Meg’s  mouth,  and  Laurie’s  eyes  were 
pronounced  “  wonderfully  fine.”  A  return  to  clay  and 
plaster  followed,  and  ghostly  casts  of  her  acquaintances 
haunted  corners  of  the  house,  or  tumbled  off  closet- 
shelves  on  to  people’s  heads.  Children  were  enticed  in 
as  models,  till  their  incoherent  accounts  of  her  myste- 


Little  Women 


3  20 

rious  doings  caused  Miss  Amy  to  be  regarded  in  the 
light  of  a  young  ogress.  Her  efforts  in  this  line,  how¬ 
ever,  were  brought  to  an  abrupt  close  by  an  untoward 
accident,  which  quenched  her  ardor.  Other  models 
failing  her  for  a  time,  she  undertook  to  cast  her  own 
pretty  foot,  and  the  family  were  one  day  alarmed  by  an 
unearthly  bumping  and  screaming,  and  running  to  the 
rescue,  found  the  young  enthusiast  hopping  wildly  about 
the  shed,  with  her  foot  held  fast  in  a  pan-full  of  plaster, 
which  had  hardened  with  unexpected  rapidity.  With 
much  difficulty  and  some  danger  she  was  dug  out;  for 
Jo  was  so  overcome  with  laughter  while  she  excavated, 
that  her  knife  went  too  far,  cut  the  poor  foot,  and  left  a 
lasting  memorial  of  one  artistic  attempt,  at  least. 

After  this  Amy  subsided,  till  a  mania  for  sketching 
from  nature  set  her  to  haunting  river,  field,  and  wood 
for  picturesque  studies,  and  sighing  for  ruins  to  copy. 
She  caught  endless  colds  sitting  on  damp  grass  to  book 
“  a  delicious  bit,”  composed  of  a  stone,  a  stump,  one 
mushroom,  and  a  broken  mullein-stalk,  or  “  a  heavenly 
mass  of  clouds,”  that  looked  like  a  choice  display  of 
feather-beds  when  done.  She  sacrificed  her  complexion 
floating  on  the  river  in  the  midsummer  sun,  to  study 
light  and  shade,  and  got  a  wrinkle  over  her  nose,  trying 
after  “  points  of  sight,”  or  whatever  the  squint-and-string 
performance  is  called. 

If  “  genius  is  eternal  patience,”  as  Michael  Angelo 
affirms,  Amy  certainly  had  some  claim  to  the  divine  at¬ 
tribute,  for  she  persevered  in  spite  of  all  obstacles,  fail¬ 
ures,  and  discouragements,  firmly  believing  that  in  time 
she  should  do  something  worthy  to  be  called  “  high 
art. 

She  was  learning,  doing,  and  enjoying  other  things, 
meanwhile,  for  she  had  resolved  to  be  an  attractive  and 


Artistic  Attempts  321 

accomplished  woman,  even  if  she  never  became  a  great 
artist.  Here  she  succeeded  better;  for  she  was  one  of 
those  happily  created  beings  who  please  without  effort, 
make  friends  everywhere,  and  take  life  so  gracefully  and 
easily  that  less  fortunate  souls  are  tempted  to  believe 
that  such  are  born  under  a  lucky  star.  Everybody  liked 
her,  for  among  her  good  gifts  was  tact.  She  had  an  in¬ 
stinctive  sense  of  what  was  pleasing  and  proper,  always 
said  the  right  thing  to  the  right  person,  did  just  what 
suited  the  time  and  place,  and  was  so  self-possessed 
that  her  sisters  used  to  say,  “  If  Amy  went  to  court 
without  any  rehearsal  beforehand,  she ’d  know  exactly 
v/hat  to  do.” 

One  of  her  weaknesses  was  a  desire  to  move  in  “  our 
best  society,”  without  being  quite  sure  what  the  best 
really  was.  Money,  position,  fashionable  accomplish¬ 
ments,  and  elegant  manners  were  most  desirable  things 
in  her  eyes,  and  she  liked  to  associate  with  those  who 
possessed  them,  often  mistaking  the  false  for  the  true, 
and  admiring  what  was  not  admirable.  Never  forgetting 
that  by  birth  she  was  a  gentlewoman,  she  cultivated  her 
aristocratic  tastes  and  feelings,  so  that  when  the  oppor¬ 
tunity  came  she  might  be  ready  to  take  the  place  from 
which  poverty  now  excluded  her. 

“  My  lady,”  as  her  friends  called  her,  sincerely  desired 
to  be  a  genuine  lady,  and  was  so  at  heart,  but  had  yet 
to  learn  that  money  cannot  buy  refinement  of  nature, 
that  rank  does  not  always  confer  nobility,  and  that  true 
breeding  makes  itself  felt  in  spite  of  external  drawbacks. 

“  I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,  mamma,”  Amy  said, 
coming  in,  with  an  important  air,  one  day. 

“Well,  little  girl,  what  is  it?”  replied  her  mother,  in 
whose  eyes  the  stately  young  lady  still  remained  “  the 
baby.” 


21 


Little  Women 


322 

“  Our  drawing  class  breaks  up  next  week,  and  before 
the  girls  separate  for  the  summer,  I  want  to  ask  them 
out  here  for  a  day.  They  are  wild  to  see  the  river, 
sketch  the  broken  bridge,  and  copy  some  of  the  things 
they  admire  in  my  book.  They  have  been  very  kind  to 
me  in  many  ways,  and  I  am  grateful,  for  they  are  all 
rich,  and  know  I  am  poor,  yet  they  never  made  any 
difference.” 

“  Why  should  they?  ”  and  Mrs.  March  put  the  ques¬ 
tion  with  what  the  girls  called  her  “  Maria  Theresa  air.” 

“  You  know  as  well  as  I  that  it  does  make  a  differ¬ 
ence  with  nearly  every  one,  so  don’t  ruffle  up,  like  a 
dear,  motherly  hen,  when  your  chickens  get  pecked  by 
smarter  birds ;  the  ugly  duckling  turned  out  a  swan, 
you  know ;  ”  and  Amy  smiled  without  bitterness,  for  she 
possessed  a  happy  temper  and  hopeful  spirit. 

Mrs.  March  laughed,  and  smoothed  down  her  maternal 
pride  as  she  asked,  — 

“Well,  my  swan,  what  is  your  plan?  ” 

“  I  should  like  to  ask  the  girls  out  to  lunch  next  week, 
to  take  them  a  drive  to  the  places  they  want  to  see,  a 
row  on  the  river,  perhaps,  and  make  a  little  artistic  fete 
for  them.” 

“That  looks  feasible.  What  do  you  want  for  lunch? 
Cake,  sandwiches,  fruit,  and  coffee  will  be  all  that  is 
necessary,  I  suppose?” 

“  Oh  dear,  no  !  we  must  have  cold  tongue  and  chicken, 
French  chocolate  and  ice-cream,  besides.  The  girls  are 
used  to  such  things,  and  I  want  my  lunch  to  be  proper 
and  elegant,  though  I  do  work  for  my  living.” 

“How  many  young  ladies  are  there?”  asked  her 
mother,  beginning  to  look  sober. 

“  Twelve  or  fourteen  in  the  class,  but  I  dare  say  they 
won’t  all  come.” 


Artistic  Attempts  323 

“  Bless  me,  child,  you  will  have  to  charter  an  omnibus 
to  carry  them  about.” 

“Why,  mother,  how  can  you  think  of  such  a  thing? 
Not  more  than  six  or  eight  will  probably  come,  so  I 
shall  hire  a  beach-wagon,  and  borrow  Mr.  Laurence’s 
cherry-bounce.”  (Hannah’s  pronunciation  of  char-a- 
banc .) 

“  All  this  will  be  expensive,  Amy.” 

“Not  very;  I ’ve  calculated  the  cost,  and  I  ’ll  pay  for 
it  myself.’’ 

“  Don’t  you  think,  dear,  that  as  these  girls  are  used  to 
such  things,  and  the  best  we  can  do  will  be  nothing  new, 
that  some  simpler  plan  would  be  pleasanter  to  them,  as 
a  change,  if  nothing  more,  and  much  better  for  us  than 
buying  or  borrowing  what  we  don’t  need,  and  attempting 
a  style  not  in  keeping  with  our  circumstances?  ” 

“  If  I  can’t  have  it  as  I  like,  I  don’t  care  to  have  it 
at  all.  I  know  that  I  can  carry  it  out  perfectly  well,  if 
you  and  the  girls  will  help  a  little ;  and  I  don’t  see 
why  I  can’t  if  I ’m  willing  to  pay  for  it,”  said  Amy, 
with  the  decision  which  opposition  was  apt  to  change 
into  obstinacy. 

Mrs.  March  knew  that  experience  was  an  excellent 
teacher,  and  when  it  was  possible  she  left  her  children 
to  learn  alone  the  lessons  which  she  would  gladly  have 
made  easier,  if  they  had  not  objected  to  taking  advice 
as  much  as  they  did  salts  and  senna. 

“Very  well,  Amy;  if  your  heart  is  set  upon  it,  and 
you  see  your  way  through  without  too  great  an  outlay 
of  money,  time,  and  temper,  I  ’ll  say  no  more.  Talk  it 
over  with  the  girls,  and  whichever  way  you  decide,  I  ’ll 
do  my  best  to  help  you.” 

“Thanks,  mother;  you  are  always  so  kind;”  and 
away  went  Amy  to  lay  her  plan  before  her  sisters. 


Little  Women 


3  24 

Meg  agreed  at  once,  and  promised  her  aid,  gladly 
offering  anything  she  possessed,  from  her  little  house 
itself  to  her  very  best  salt-spoons.  But  Jo  frowned 
upon  the  whole  project,  and  would  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it  at  first. 

“  Why  in  the  world  should  you  spend  your  money, 
worry  your  family,  and  turn  the  house  upside  down  for 
a  parcel  of  girls  who  don’t  care  a  sixpence  for  you?  I 
thought  you  had  too  much  pride  and  sense  to  truckle  to 
any  mortal  woman  just  because  she  wears  French  boots 
and  rides  in  a  coupe,"  said  Jo,  who,  being  called  from  the 
tragical  climax  of  her  novel,  was  not  in  the  best  mood 
for  social  enterprises. 

“  I  don  t  truckle,  and  I  hate  being  patronized  as  much 
as  you  do !  ”  returned  Amy  indignantly,  for  the  two 
still  jangled  when  such  questions  arose.  “The  girls  do 
care  for  me,  and  I  for  them,  and  there  ’s  a  great  deal  of 
kindness  and  sense  and  talent  among  them,  in  spite  of 
what  you  call  fashionable  nonsense.  You  don’t  care 
to  make  people  like  you,  to  go  into  good  society,  and 
cultivate  your  manners  and  tastes.  I  do,  and  I  mean  to 
make  the  most  of  every  chance  that  comes.  You  can 
go  through  the  world  with  your  elbows  out  and  your 
nose  in  the  air,  and  call  it  independence,  if  you  like. 
That ’s  not  my  way.” 

When  Amy  whetted  her  tongue  and  freed  her  mind 
she  usually  got  the  best  of  it,  for  she  seldom  failed  to 
have  common  sense  on  her  side,  while  Jo  carried  her 
love  of  liberty  and  hate  of  conventionalities  to  such  an 
unlimited  extent  that  she  naturally  found  herself  worsted 
in  an  argument.  Amy’s  definition  of  Jo’s  idea  of  inde¬ 
pendence  was  such  a  good  hit  that  both  burst  out 
laughing,  and  the  discussion  took  a  more  amiable  turn. 
Much  against  her  will,  Jo  at  length  consented  to  sacrifice 


Artistic  Attempts  325 

a  day  to  Mrs.  Grundy,  and  help  her  sister  through  what 
she  regarded  as  “  a  nonsensical  business.” 

The  invitations  were  sent,  nearly  all  accepted,  and  the 
following  Monday  was  set  apart  for  the  grand  event. 
Hannah  was  out  of  humor  because  her  week’s  work  was 
deranged,  and  prophesied  that  “  ef  the  washin’  and 
ironin’  warn’t  done  reg’lar  nothin’  would  go  well  any¬ 
wheres.”  This  hitch  in  the  mainspring  of  the  domestic 
machinery  had  a  bad  effect  upon  the  whole  concern; 
but  Amy’s  motto  was  “  Nil  desperandum,”  and  having 
made  up  her  mind  what  to  do,  she  proceeded  to  do  it  in 
spite  of  all  obstacles.  To  begin  with,  Hannah’s  cooking 
did  n’t  turn  out  well :  the  chicken  was  tough,  the  tongue 
too  salt,  and  the  chocolate  would  n’t  froth  properly. 
Then  the  cake  and  ice  cost  more  than  Amy  expected, 
so  did  the  wagon ;  and  various  other  expenses,  which 
seemed  trifling  at  the  outset,  counted  up  rather  alarm¬ 
ingly  afterward.  Beth  got  cold  and  took  to  her  bed, 
Meg  had  an  unusual  number  of  callers  to  keep  her  at 
home,  and  Jo  was  in  such  a  divided  state  of  mind  that 
her  breakages,  accidents,  and  mistakes  were  uncom¬ 
monly  numerous,  serious,  and  trying. 

“  If  it  had  n’t  been  for  mother  I  never  should  have  got 
through,”  as  Amy  declared  afterward,  and  gratefully 
remembered  when  “  the  best  joke  of  the  season  ”  was 
entirely  forgotten  by  everybody  else. 

If  it  was  not  fair  on  Monday,  the  young  ladies  were  to 
come  on  Tuesday,  —  an  arrangement  which  aggravated 
Jo  and  Hannah  to  the  last  degree.  On  Monday  morn¬ 
ing  the  weather  was  in  that  undecided  state  which  is 
more  exasperating  than  a  steady  pour.  It  drizzled  a 
little,  shone  a  little,  blew  a  little,  and  did  n’t  make  up 
its  mind  till  it  was  too  late  for  any  one  else  to  make 
up  theirs.  Amy  was  up  at  dawn,  hustling  people  out  of 


Little  Women 


326 

their  beds  and  through  their  breakfasts,  that  the  house 
might  be  got  in  order.  The  parlor  struck  her  as  look¬ 
ing  uncommonly  shabby ;  but  without  stopping  to  sigh 
for  what  she  had  not,  she  skilfully  made  the  best  of  what 
she  had,  arranging  chairs  over  the  worn  places  in  the 
carpet,  covering  stains  on  the  walls  with  pictures  framed 
in  ivy,  and  filling  up  empty  corners  with  home-made 
statuary,  which  gave  an  artistic  air  to  the  room,  as  did 
the  lovely  vases  of  flowers  Jo  scattered  about. 

The  lunch  looked  charmingly;  and  as  she  surveyed 
it,  she  sincerely  hoped  it  would  taste  well,  and  that  the 
borrowed  glass,  china,  and  silver  would  get  safely  home 
again.  The  carriages  were  promised,  Meg  and  mother 
were  all  ready  to  do  the  honors,  Beth  was  able  to  help 
Hannah  behind  the  scenes,  Jo  had  engaged  to  be  as 
lively  and  amiable  as  an  absent  mind,  an  aching  head, 
and  a  very  decided  disapproval  of  everybody  and  every¬ 
thing  would  allow,  and,  as  she  wearily  dressed,  Amy 
cheered  herself  with  anticipations  of  the  happy  moment, 
when,  lunch  safely  over,  she  should  drive  away  with  her 
friends  for  an  afternoon  of  artistic  delights ;  for  the 
“  cherry-bounce  ”  and  the  broken  bridge  were  her  strong 
points. 

Then  came  two  hours  of  suspense,  during  which  she 
vibrated  from  parlor  to  porch,  while  public  opinion 
varied  like  the  weathercock.  A  smart  shower  at  eleven 
had  evidently  quenched  the  enthusiasm  of  the  young 
ladies  who  were  to  arrive  at  twelve,  for  nobody  came ; 
and  at  two  the  exhausted  family  sat  down  in  a  blaze  of 
sunshine  to  consume  the  perishable  portions  of  the  feast, 
that  nothing  might  be  lost. 

“  No  doubt  about  the  weather  to-day;  they  will  cer¬ 
tainly  come,  so  we  must  fly  round  and  be  ready  for 
them,”  said  Amy,  as  the  sun  woke  her  next  morning. 


Artistic  Attempts  327 

She  spoke  briskly,  but  in  her  secret  soul  she  wished  she 
had  said  nothing  about  Tuesday,  for  her  interest,  like 
her  cake,  was  getting  a  little  stale. 

“  I  can't  get  any  lobsters,  so  you  will  have  to  do  with¬ 
out  salad  to-day,”  said  Mr.  March,  coming  in  half  an 
hour  later,  with  an  expression  of  placid  despair. 

“  Use  the  chicken,  then ;  the  toughness  won’t  matter 
in  a  salad/’  advised  his  wife. 

“  Hannah  left  it  on  the  kitchen-table  a  minute,  and  the 
kittens  got  at  it.  I ’m  very  sorry,  Amy,”  added  Beth, 
who  was  still  a  patroness  of  cats. 

“  Then  I  must  have  a  lobster,  for  tongue  alone  won’t 
do,”  said  Amy  decidedly. 

“  Shall  I  rush  into  town  and  demand  one?”  asked  Jo, 
with  the  magnanimity  of  a  martyr. 

“  You ’d  come  bringing  it  home  under  your  arm, 
without  any  paper,  just  to  try  me.  I  ’ll  go  myself,” 
answered  Amy,  whose  temper  was  beginning  to  fail. 

Shrouded  in  a  thick  veil  and  armed  with  a  genteel 
travelling-basket,  she  departed,  feeling  that  a  cool  drive 
would  soothe  her  ruffled  spirit,  and  fit  her  for  the  labors 
of  the  day.  After  some  delay,  the  object  of  her  desire 
was  procured,  likewise  a  bottle  of  dressing,  to  prevent 
further  loss  of  time  at  home,  and  off  she  drove  again, 
well  pleased  with  her  own  forethought. 

As  the  omnibus  contained  only  one  other  passenger, 
a  sleepy  old  lady,  Amy  pocketed  her  veil,  and  beguiled 
the  tedium  of  the  way  by  trying  to  find  out  where  all 
her  money  had  gone  to.  So  busy  was  she  with  her  card 
full  of  refractory  figures  that  she  did  not  observe  a  new¬ 
comer,  who  entered  without  stopping  the  vehicle,  till  a 
masculine  voice  said,  “  Good-morning,  Miss  March,” 
and,  looking  up,  she  beheld  one  of  Laurie’s  most  elegant 
college  friends.  Fervently  hoping  that  he  would  get 


Little  Women 


328 

out  before  she  did,  Amy  utterly  ignored  the  basket  at 
her  feet,  and,  congratulating  herself  that  she  had  on  her 
new  travelling  dress,  returned  the  young  man’s  greeting 
with  her  usual  suavity  and  spirit 

They  got  on  excellently;  for  Amy’s  chief  care  was 
soon  set  at  rest  by  learning  that  the  gentleman  would 
leave  first,  and  she  was  chatting  away  in  a  peculiarly 
lofty  strain,  when  the  old  lady  got  out.  In  stumbling 
to  the  door,  she  upset  the  basket,  and  —  oh,  horror!  — 
the  lobster,  in  all  its  vulgar  size  and  brilliancy,  was 
revealed  to  the  high-born  eyes  of  a  Tudor. 

“  By  Jove,  she ’s  forgotten  her  dinner  !  ”  cried  the  un¬ 
conscious  youth,  poking  the  scarlet  monster  into  its 
place  with  his  cane,  and  preparing  to  hand  out  the  bas¬ 
ket  after  the  old  lady. 

“Please  don’t  —  it’s  —  it’s  mine,”  murmured  Amy, 
with  a  face  nearly  as  red  as  her  fish. 

“Oh,  really,  I  beg  pardon;  it’s  an  uncommonly  fine 
one,  is  n’t  it?  ”  said  Tudor,  with  great  presence  of  mind, 
and  an  air  of  sober  interest  that  did  credit  to  his  breeding. 

Amy  recovered  herself  in  a  breath,  set  her  basket  boldly 
on  the  seat,  and  said,  laughing,  — 

“  Don’t  you  wish  you  were  to  have  some  of  the  salad 
he ’s  to  make,  and  to  see  the  charming  young  ladies  who 
are  to  eat  it?  ” 

Now  that  was  tact,  for  two  of  the  ruling  foibles  of  the 
masculine  mind  were  touched  :  the  lobster  was  instantly 
surrounded  by  a  halo  of  pleasing  reminiscences,  and  curi¬ 
osity  about  “the  charming  young  ladies”  diverted  his 
mind  from  the  comical  mishap. 

“  I  suppose  he  ’ll  laugh  and  joke  over  it  with  Laurie, 
but  I  sha’n’t  see  them  ;  that ’s  a  comfort,”  thought  Amy, 
as  Tudor  bowed  and  departed. 

She  did  not  mention  this  meeting  at  home  (though  she 


Artistic  Attempts  329 

discovered  that,  thanks  to  the  upset,  her  new  dress  was 
much  damaged  by  the  rivulets  of  dressing  that  meandered 
down  the  skirt),  but  went  through  with  the  preparations, 
which  now  seemed  more  irksome  than  before ;  and  at 
twelve  o’clock  all  was  ready  again.  Feeling  that  the 
neighbors  were  interested  in  her  movements,  she  wished 
to  efface  the  memory  of  yesterday’s  failure  by  a  grand 
success  to-day ;  so  she  ordered  the  “  cherry-bounce,”  and 
drove  away  in  state  to  meet  and  escort  her  guests  to  the 
banquet. 

“  There ’s  the  rumble,  they  ’re  coming  !  I  ’ll  go  into  the 
porch  to  meet  them ;  it  looks  hospitable,  and  I  want  the 
poor  child  to  have  a  good  time  after  all  her  trouble,”  said 
Mrs.  March,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word.  But  after  one 
glance,  she  retired,  with  an  indescribable  expression,  for, 
looking  quite  lost  in  the  big  carriage,  sat  Amy  and  one 
young  lady. 

“  Run,  Beth,  and  help  Hannah  clear  half  the  things  off 
the  table ;  it  will  be  too  absurd  to  put  a  luncheon  for 
twelve  before  a  single  girl,”  cried  Jo,  hurrying  away  to  the 
lower  regions,  too  excited  to  stop  even  for  a  laugh. 

In  came  Amy,  quite  calm,  and  delightfully  cordial  to 
the  one  guest  who  had  kept  her  promise  ;  the  rest  of  the 
family,  being  of  a  dramatic  turn,  played  their  parts  equally 
well,  and  Miss  Eliott  found  them  a  most  hilarious  set ;  for 
it  was  impossible  to  entirely  control  the  merriment  which 
possessed  them.  The  remodelled  lunch  being  gayly  par¬ 
taken  of,  the  studio  and  garden  visited,  and  art  discussed 
with  enthusiasm,  Amy  ordered  a  buggy  (alas  for  the 
elegant  cherry-bounce  !)  and  drove  her  friend  quietly 
about  the  neighborhood  till  sunset,  when  “  the  party 
went  out.” 

As  she  came  walking  in,  looking  very  tired,  but  as  com¬ 
posed  as  ever,  she  observed  that  every  vestige  of  the 


Little  Women 


33° 

unfortunate  fete  had  disappeared,  except  a  suspicious 
pucker  about  the  corners  of  Jo’s  mouth. 

“  You ’ve  had  a  lovely  afternoon  for  your  drive,  dear,” 
said  her  mother,  as  respectfully  as  if  the  whole  twelve  had 
come. 

“  Miss  Eliott  is  a  very  sweet  girl,  and  seemed  to  enjoy 
herself,  I  thought,”  observed  Beth,  with  unusual  warmth. 

“Could  you  spare  me  some  of  your  cake?  I  really 
need  some,  I  have  so  much  company,  and  I  can’t  make 
such  delicious  stuff  as  yours,”  asked  Meg  soberly. 

“Take  it  all;  I’m  the  only  one  here  who  likes  sweet 
things,  and  it  will  mould  before  I  can  dispose  of  it,” 
answered  Amy,  thinking  with  a  sigh  of  the  generous 
store  she  had  laid  in  for  such  an  end  as  this. 

“  It ’s  a  pity  Laurie  is  n’t  here  to  help  us,”  began  Jo,  as 
they  sat  down  to  ice-cream  and  salad  for  the  second  time 
in  two  days. 

A  warning  look  from  her  mother  checked  any  further 
remarks,  and  the  whole  family  ate  in  heroic  silence,  till 
Mr.  March  mildly  observed,  “  Salad  was  one  of  the 
favorite  dishes  of  the  ancients,  and  Evelyn  ”  —  here  a 
general  explosion  of  laughter  cut  short  the  “  history  of 
sallets,”  to  the  great  surprise  of  the  learned  gentleman. 

“  Bundle  everything  into  a  basket  and  send  it  to  the 
Hummels  :  Germans  like  messes.  I ’m  sick  of  the  sight 
of  this;  and  there’s  no  reason  you  should  all  die  of  a 
surfeit  because  I ’ve  been  a  fool,”  cried  Amy,  wiping  her 
eyes. 

“  I  thought  I  should  have  died  when  I  saw  you 
two  girls  rattling  about  in  the  what-you-call-it,  like  two 
little  kernels  in  a  very  big  nut-shell,  and  mother  waiting 
in  state  to  receive  the  throng,”  sighed  Jo,  quite  spent 
with  laughter. 

“  I ’m  very  sorry  you  were  disappointed,  dear,  but  we 


Literary  Lessons  331 

all  did  our  best  to  satisfy  you,”  said  Mrs.  March,  in  a  tone 
full  of  motherly  regret. 

“  I  am  satisfied  ;  I  ’ve  done  what  I  undertook,  and  it ’s 
not  my  fault  that  it  failed ;  I  comfort  myself  with  that,” 
( said  Amy,  with  a  little  quiver  in  her  voice.  “  I  thank  you 
all  very  much  for  helping  me,  and  I’ll  thank  you  still 
more  if  you  won’t  allude  to  it  for  a  month,  at  least.” 

No  one  did  for  several  months;  but  the  word  “fete" 
always  produced  a  general  smile,  and  Laurie’s  birthday 
gift  to  Amy  was  a  tiny  coral  lobster  in  the  shape  of  a 
charm  for  her  watch-guard. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

LITERARY  LESSONS 

FORTUNE  suddenly  smiled  upon  Jo,  and  dropped 
a  good-luck  penny  in  her  path.  Not  a  golden 
penny,  exactly,  but  I  doubt  if  half  a  million  would 
have  given  more  real  happiness  than  did  the  little  sum 
that  came  to  her  in  this  wise. 

Every  few  weeks  she  would  shut  herself  up  in  her  room, 
put  on  her  scribbling  suit,  and  “  fall  into  a  vortex,”  as  she 
expressed  it,  writing  away  at  her  novel  with  all  her  heart 
and  soul,  for  till  that  was  finished  she  could  find  no  peace. 
Her  “  scribbling  suit  ”  consisted  of  a  black  woollen  pina¬ 
fore  on  which  she  could  wipe  her  pen  at  will,  and  a  cap 
of  the  same  material,  adorned  with  a  cheerful  red  bow, 
into  which  she  bundled  her  hair  when  the  decks  were 
cleared  for  action.  This  cap  was  a  beacon  to  the  inquir¬ 
ing  eyes  of  her  family,  who  during  these  periods  kept  their 
distance,  merely  popping  in  their  heads  semi-occasionally, 
to  ask,  with  interest,  “  Does  genius  burn,  Jo  ?  ”  They  did 


Little  Women 


332 

not  always  venture  even  to  ask  this  question,  but  took  an 
observation  of  the  cap,  and  judged  accordingly.  If  this 
expressive  article  of  dress  was  drawn  low  upon  the  fore¬ 
head,  it  was  a  sign  that  hard  work  was  going  on ;  in 
exciting  moments  it  was  pushed  rakishly  askew;  and 
when  despair  seized  the  author  it  was  plucked  wholly  off, 
and  cast  upon  the  floor.  At  such  times  the  intruder 
silently  withdrew;  and  not  until  the  red  bow  was  seen 
gayly  erect  upon  the  gifted  brow,  did  any  one  dare 
address  Jo. 

She  did  not  think  herself  a  genius  by  any  means;  but 
when  the  writing  fit  came  on,  she  gave  herself  up  to  it 
with  entire  abandon,  and  led  a  blissful  life,  unconscious 
of  want,  care,  or  bad  weather,  while  she  sat  safe  and  happy 
in  an  imaginary  world,  full  of  friends  almost  as  real  and 
dear  to  her  as  any  in  the  flesh.  Sleep  forsook  her  eyes, 
meals  stood  untasted,  day  and  night  were  all  too  short  to 
enjoy  the  happiness  which  blessed  her  only  at  such  times, 
and  made  these  hours  worth  living,  even  if  they  bore  no 
other  fruit.  The  divine  afflatus  usually  lasted  a  week  or 
two,  and  then  she  emerged  from  her  “  vortex,’*  hungry, 
sleepy,  cross,  or  despondent. 

She  was  just  recovering  from  one  of  these  attacks  when 
she  was  prevailed  upon  to  escort  Miss  Crocker  to  a  lec¬ 
ture,  and  in  return  for  her  virtue  was  rewarded  with  a  new 
idea.  It  was  a  People’s  Course,  the  lecture  on  the  Pyra¬ 
mids,  and  Jo  rather  wondered  at  the  choice  of  such  a 
subject  for  such  an  audience,  but  took  it  for  granted  that 
some  great  social  evil  would  be  remedied  or  some  great 
want  supplied  by  unfolding  the  glories  of  the  Pharaohs 
to  an  audience  whose  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  price 
of  coal  and  flour,  and  whose  lives  were  spent  in  trying 
to  solve  harder  riddles  than  that  of  the  Sphinx. 

They  were  early;  and  while  Miss  Crocker  set  the  heel 


Literary  Lessons  333 

of  her  stocking,  Jo  amused  herself  by  examining  the  faces 
of  the  people  who  occupied  the  seat  with  them.  On  her 
left  were  two  matrons,  with  massive  foreheads,,  and  bon¬ 
nets  to  match,  discussing  Woman’s  Rights  and  making 
tatting.  Beyond  sat  a  pair  of  humble  lovers,  artlessly 
holding  each  other  by  the  hand,  a  sombre  spinster  eat¬ 
ing  peppermints  out  of  a  paper  bag,  and  an  old  gentle¬ 
man  taking  his  preparatory  nap  behind  a  yellowbandanna. 
On  her  right,  her  only  neighbor  was  a  studious-looking  lad 
absorbed  in  a  newspaper. 

It  was  a  pictorial  sheet,  and  Jo  examined  the  work  of 
art  nearest  her,  idly  wondering  what  unfortuitous  con¬ 
catenation  of  circumstances  needed  the  melodramatic 
illustration  of  an  Indian  in  full  war  costume,  tumbling 
over  a  precipice  with  a  wolf  at  his  throat,  while  two  in¬ 
furiated  young  gentlemen,  with  unnaturally  small  feet 
and  big  eyes,  were  stabbing  each  other  close  by,  and  a 
dishevelled  female  was  flying  away  in  the  background 
with  her  mouth  wide  open.  Pausing  to  turn  a  page,  the 
lad  saw  her  looking,  and,  with  boyish  good-nature,  offered 
half  his  paper,  saying  bluntly,  “  Want  to  read  it?  That ’s 
a  first-rate  story.” 

Jo  accepted  it  with  a  smile,  for  she  had  never  outgrown 
her  liking  for  lads,  and  soon  found  herself  involved  in  the 
usual  labyrinth  of  love,  mystery,  and  murder,  for  the 
i  story  belonged  to  that  class  of  light  literature  in  which 

I  the  passions  have  a  holiday,  and  when  the  author’s  in¬ 
vention  fails,  a  grand  catastrophe  clears  the  stage  of  one 
half  the  dramatis  persona ,  leaving  the  other  half  to  exult 
over  their  downfall. 

“Prime,  isn’t  it?  ”  asked  the  boy,  as  her  eye  went 
down  the  last  paragraph  of  her  portion. 

“I  think  you  and  I  could  do  as  well  as  that  if  we  tried," 
eturned  Jo,  amused  at  his  admiration  of  the  trash. 

I; 


Little  Women 


334 

“  I  should  think  I  was  a  pretty  lucky  chap  if  I  could. 
She  makes  a  good  living  out  of  such  stories,  they  say;  ” 
and  he  pointed  to  the  name  of  Mrs.  S.  L.  A.  N.  G.  North- 
bury,  under  the  title  of  the  tale. 

“  Do  you  know  her?  ”  asked  Jo,  with  sudden  interest. 

“  No;  but  I  read  all  her  pieces,  and  I  know  a  fellow 
who  works  in  the  office  where  this  paper  is  printed.” 

“  Do  you  say  she  makes  a  good  living  out  of  stories 
like  this?  ”  and  Jo  looked  more  respectfully  at  the  agi¬ 
tated  group  and  thickly-sprinkled  exclamation-points 
that  adorned  the  page. 

“Guess  she  does!  She  knows  just  what  folks  like, 
and  gets  paid  well  for  writing  it.” 

Here  the  lecture  began,  but  Jo  heard  very  little  of  it, 
for  while  Prof.  Sands  was  prosing  away  about  Belzoni, 
Cheops,  scarabei,  and  hieroglyphics,  she  was  covertly 
taking  down  the  address  of  the  paper,  and  boldly  resolv¬ 
ing  to  try  for  the  hundred-dollar  prize  offered  in  its  col¬ 
umns  for  a  sensational  story.  By  the  time  the  lecture 
ended  and  the  audience  awoke,  she  had  built  up  a  splen¬ 
did  fortune  for  herself  (not  the  first  founded  upon  paper), 
and  was  already  deep  in  the  concoction  of  her  story, 
being  unable  to  decide  whether  the  duel  should  come 
before  the  elopement  or  after  the  murder. 

She  said  nothing  of  her  plan  at  home,  but  fell  to  work 
next  day,  much  to  the  disquiet  of  her  mother,  who  always 
looked  a  little  anxious  when  “  genius  took  to  burning.” 
Jo  had  never  tried  this  style  before,  contenting  herself 
with  very  mild  romances  for  the  “  Spread  Eagle.”  Her 
theatrical  experience  and  miscellaneous  reading  were  of 
service  now,  for  they  gave  her  some  idea  of  dramatic 
effect,  and  supplied  plot,  language,  and  costumes.  Her 
story  was  as  full  of  desperation  and  despair  as  her  limited 
acquaintance  with  those  uncomfortable  emotions  enabled 


Literary  Lessons  335 

her  to  make  it,  and,  having  located  it  in  Lisbon,  she 
wound  up  with  an  earthquake,  as  a  striking  and  appro¬ 
priate  denouement.  The  manuscript  was  privately  de¬ 
spatched,  accompanied  by  a  note,  modestly  saying  that 
if  the  tale  did  n’t  get  the  prize,  which  the  writer  hardly 
dared  expect,  she  would  be  very  glad  to  receive  any  sum 
it  might  be  considered  worth. 

Six  weeks  is  a  long  time  to  wait,  and  a  still  longer  time 
for  a  girl  to  keep  a  secret;  but  Jo  did  both,  and  was  just 
beginning  to  give  up  all  hope  of  ever  seeing  her  manu¬ 
script  again,  when  a  letter  arrived  which  almost  took 
her  breath  away;  for  on  opening  it,  a  check  for  a  hun¬ 
dred  dollars  fell  into  her  lap.  For  a  minute  she  stared 
at  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  snake,  then  she  read  her  letter  and 
began  to  cry.  If  the  amiable  gentleman  who  wrote  that 
kindly  note  could  have  known  what  intense  happiness  he 
was  giving  a  fellow-creature,  I  think  he  would  devote  his 
leisure  hours,  if  he  has  any,  to  that  amusement ;  for  Jo 
valued  the  letter  more  than  the  money,  because  it  was 
encouraging;  and  after  years  of  effort  it  was  so  pleasant 
to  find  that  she  had  learned  to  do  something,  though  it 
was  only  to  write  a  sensation  story. 

A  prouder  young  woman  was  seldom  seen  than  she, 
when,  having  composed  herself,  she  electrified  the  family 
by  appearing  before  them  with  the  letter  in  one  hand, 
the  check  in  the  other,  announcing  that  she  had  won  the 
prize.  Of  course  there  was  a  great  jubilee,  and  when 
the  story  came  every  one  read  and  praised  it ;  though 
after  her  father  had  told  her  that  the  language  was  good, 
the  romance  fresh  and  hearty,  and  the  tragedy  quite 
thrilling,  he  shook  his  head,  and  said  in  his  unworldly 
way,  — 

“  You  can  do  better  than  this,  Jo.  Aim  at  the  highest, 
and  never  mind  the  money.” 

| 


Little  Women 


336 

“  /  think  the  money  is  the  best  part  of  it.  What  will 
you  do  with  such  a  fortune?  ”  asked  Amy,  regarding  the 
magic  slip  of  paper  with  a  reverential  eye. 

“  Send  Beth  and  mother  to  the  seaside  for  a  month  or 
two,”  answered  Jo  promptly. 

“  Oh,  how  splendid  !  No,  I  can’t  do  it,  dear,  it  would 
be  so  selfish,”  cried  Beth,  who  had  clapped  her  thin 
hands,  and  taken  a  long  breath,  as  if  pining  for  fresh 
ocean-breezes  ;  then  stopped  herself,  and  motioned  away 
the  check  which  her  sister  waved  before  her. 

“  Ah,  but  you  shall  go,  I  Ve  set  my  heart  on  it ;  that ’s 
what  I  tried  for,  and  that ’s  why  I  succeeded.  I  never 
get  on  when  I  think  of  myself  alone,  so  it  will  help  me 
to  work  for  you,  don’t  you  see?  Besides,  Marmee  needs 
the  change,  and  she  won’t  leave  you,  so  you  must  go. 
Won’t  it  be  fun  to  see  you  come  home  plump  and 
rosy  again?  Hurrah  for  Dr.  Jo,  who  always  cures  her 
patients !  ” 

To  the  seaside  they  went,  after  much  discussion ;  and 
though  Beth  did  n’t  come  home  as  plump  and  rosy  as 
could  be  desired,  she  was  much  better,  while  Mrs.  March 
declared  she  felt  ten  years  younger;  so  Jo  was  satisfied 
with  the  investment  of  her  prize  money,  and  fell  to  work 
with  a  cheery  spirit,  bent  on  earning  more  of  those 
delightful  checks.  She  did  earn  several  that  year,  and 
began  to  feel  herself  a  power  in  the  house;  for  by  the 
magic  of  a  pen,  her  “  rubbish  ”  turned  into  comforts  for 
them  all.  “The  Duke’s  Daughter  ”  paid  the  butcher’s 
bill,  “  A  Phantom  Hand  ”  put  down  a  new  carpet,  and 
the  “  Curse  of  the  Coventrys  ”  proved  the  blessing  of 
the  Marches  in  the  way  of  groceries  and  gowns. 

Wealth  is  certainly  a  most  desirable  thing,  but  poverty 
has  its  sunny  side,  and  one  of  the  sweet  uses  of  adversity 
is  the  genuine  satisfaction  which  comes  from  hearty  work 


Literary  Lessons  337 

of  head  or  hand;  and  to  the  inspiration  of  necessity,  we 
owe  half  the  wise,  beautiful,  and  useful  blessings  of  the 
world.  Jo  enjoyed  a  taste  of  this  satisfaction,  and  ceased 
to  envy  richer  girls,  taking  great  comfort  in  the  knowl¬ 
edge  that  she  could  supply  her  own  wants,  and  need  ask 
no  one  for  a  penny. 

Little  notice  was  taken  of  her  stories,  but  they  found 
a  market;  and,  encouraged  by  this  fact,  she  resolved  to 
make  a  bold  stroke  for  fame  and  fortune.  Having  copied 
her  novel  for  the  fourth  time,  read  it  to  all  her  confidential 
friends,  and  submitted  it  with  fear  and  trembling  to  three 
publishers,  she  at  last  disposed  of  it,  on  condition  that 
she  would  cut  it  down  one  third,  and  omit  all  the  parts 
which  she  particularly  admired. 

“  Now  I  must  either  bundle  it  back  into  my  tin-kitchen 
to  mould,  pay  for  printing  it  myself,  or  chop  it  up  to  suit 
purchasers,  and  get  what  I  can  for  it.  Fame  is  a  very 
good  thing  to  have  in  the  house,  but  cash  is  more  con¬ 
venient;  so  I  wish  to  take  the  sense  of  the  meeting  on 
this  important  subject,”  said  Jo,  calling  a  family  council. 

“  Don’t  spoil  your  book,  my  girl,  for  there  is  more  in 
it  than  you  know,  and  the  idea  is  well  worked  out.  Let 
it  wait  and  ripen,”  was  her  father’s  advice,  and  he  prac¬ 
tised  as  he  preached,  having  waited  patiently  thirty  years 
for  fruit  of  his  own  to  ripen,  and  being  in  no  haste  to 
gather  it,  even  now,  when  it  was  sweet  and  mellow. 

“  It  seems  to  me  that  Jo  will  profit  more  by  making 
the  trial  than  by  waiting,”  said  Mrs.  March.  “  Criticism 
is  the  best  test  of  such  work,  for  it  will  show  her  both 
unsuspected  merits  and  faults,  and  help  her  to  do  better 
next  time.  We  are  too  partial;  but  the  praise  and 
blame  of  outsiders  will  prove  useful,  even  if  she  gets  but 
little  money.” 

“Yes,”  said  Jo,  knitting  her  brows,  “that’s  just  it; 

22 


Little  Women 


338 

I’ve  been  fussing  over  the  thing  so  long,  I  really  don’t 
know  whether  it ’s  good,  bad,  or  indifferent.  It  will  be  a 
great  help  to  have  cool,  impartial  persons  take  a  look 
at  it,  and  tell  me  what  they  think  of  it.” 

“  I  wouldn’t  leave  out  a  word  of  it;  you’ll  spoil  it  if 
you  do,  for  the  interest  of  the  story  is  more  in  the  minds 
than  in  the  actions  of  the  people,  and  it  will  be  all  a 
muddle  if  you  don’t  explain  as  you  go  on,”  said  Meg, 
who  firmly  believed  that  this  book  was  the  most  re¬ 
markable  novel  ever  written. 

“  But  Mr.  Allen  says,  ‘  Leave  out  the  explanations, 
make  it  brief  and  dramatic,  and  let  the  characters  tell 
the  story,’  ”  interrupted  Jo,  turning  to  the  publisher’s 
note. 

“  Do  as  he  tells  you ;  he  knows  what  will  sell,  and  we 
don’t.  Make  a  good,  popular  book,  and  get  as  much 
money  as  you  can.  By  and  by,  when  you ’ve  got  a 
name,  you  can  afford  to  digress,  and  'have  philosophical 
and  metaphysical  people  in  your  novels,”  said  Amy, 
who  took  a  strictly  practical  view  of  the  subject. 

“  Well,”  said  Jo,  laughing,  “  if  my  people  are  ‘  philo¬ 
sophical  and  metaphysical,’  it  is  n’t  my  fault,  for  I  know 
nothing  about  such  things,  except  what  I  hear  father 
say,  sometimes.  If  I ’ve  got  some  of  his  wise  ideas 
jumbled  up  with  my  romance,  so  much  the  better  for 
me.  Now,  Beth,  wrhat  do  you  say?” 

“  I  should  so  like  to  see  it  printed  soon”  was  all  Beth 
said,  and  smiled  in  saying  it;  but  there  was  an  uncon¬ 
scious  emphasis  on  the  last  word,  and  a  wistful  look  in 
the  eyes  that  never  lost  their  childlike  candor,  which 
chilled  Jo’s  heart,  for  a  minute,  with  a  foreboding  fear, 
and  decided  her  to  make  her  little  venture  “soon.” 

So,  with  Spartan  firmness,  the  young  authoress  laid 
her  first-born  on  her  table,  and  chopped  it  up  as  ruth- 


Literary  Lessons  339 

lessly  as  any  ogre.  In  the  hope  of  pleasing  every  one, 
she  took  every  one’s  advice ;  and,  like  the  old  man  and 
his  donkey  in  the  fable,  suited  nobody. 

Her  father  liked  the  metaphysical  streak  which  had 
unconsciously  got  into  it;  so  that  was  allowed  to  re¬ 
main,  though  she  had  her  doubts  about  it.  Her  mother 
thought  that  there  was  a  trifle  too  much  description ; 
out,  therefore,  it  nearly  all  came,  and  with  it  many 
necessary  links  in  the  story.  Meg  admired  the  trag¬ 
edy;  so  Jo  piled  up  the  agony  to  suit  her,  while  Amy 
objected  to  the  fun,  and,  with  the  best  intentions  in  life, 
Jo  quenched  the  sprightly  scenes  which  relieved  the 
sombre  character  of  the  story.  Then,  to  complete  the 
ruin,  she  cut  it  down  one  third,  and  confidingly  sent 
the  poor  little  romance,  like  a  picked  robin,  out  into 
the  big,  busy  world,  to  try  its  fate. 

Well,  it  was  printed,  and  she  got  three  hundred  dob 
lars  for  it ;  likewise  plenty  of  praise  and  blame,  both  so 
much  greater  than  she  expected  that  she  was  thrown 
into  a  state  of  bewilderment,  from  which  it  took  her 
some  time  to  recover. 

“  You  said,  mother,  that  criticism  would  help  me  ;  but 
how  can  it,  when  it ’s  so  contradictory  that  I  don’t  know 
whether  I ’ve  written  a  promising  book  or  broken  all  the 
ten  commandments?”  cried  poor  Jo,  turning  over  a 
heap  of  notices,  the  perusal  of  which  filled  her  with 
pride  and  joy  one  minute,  wrath  and  dire  dismay  the 
next.  “  This  man  says  ‘  An  exquisite  book,  full  of  truth, 
beauty,  and  earnestness  ;  all  is  sweet,  pure,  and  healthy,’  ” 
continued  the  perplexed  authoress.  “The  next,  ‘The 
theory  of  the  book  is  bad,  full  of  morbid  fancies,  spirit¬ 
ualistic  ideas,  and  unnatural  characters.’  Now,  as  I  had 
no  theory  of  any  kind,  don’t  believe  in  Spiritualism,  and 
copied  my  characters  from  life,  I  don’t  see  how  this  critic 


340  Little  Women 

tan  be  right.  Another  says,  ‘  It ’s  one  of  the  best  Ameri¬ 
can  novels  which  has  appeared  for  years’  (I  know  better 
than  that)  ;  and  the  next  asserts  that  ‘  though  it  is 
original,  and  written  with  great  force  and  feeling,  it  is 
a  dangerous  book.’  ’T  is  n’t !  Some  make  fun  of  it, 
some  over-praise,  and  nearly  all  insist  that  I  had  a  deep 
theory  to  expound,  when  I  only  wrote  it  for  the  pleasure 
and  the  money.  I  wish  I ’d  printed  it  whole  or  not  at 
all,  for  I  do  hate  to  be  so  misjudged.” 

Her  family  and  friends  administered  comfort  and  com¬ 
mendation  liberally;  yet  it  was  a  hard  time  for  sensitive, 
high-spirited  Jo,  who  meant  so  well,  and  had  apparently 
done  so  ill.  But  it  did  her  good,  for  those  whose  opinion 
had  real  value  gave  her  the  criticism  which  is  an  author’s 
best  education  ;  and  when  the  first  soreness  was  over,  she 
could  laugh  at  her  poor  little  book,  yet  believe  in  it  still, 
and  feel  herself  the  wiser  and  stronger  for  the  buffeting 
she  had  received. 

“  Not  being  a  genius,  like  Keats,  it  won’t  kill  me,”  she 
said  stoutly ;  “  and  I ’ve  got  the  joke  on  my  side,  after  all ; 
for  the  parts  that  were  taken  straight  out  of  real  life  are 
denounced  as  impossible  and  absurd,  and  the  scenes  that 
I  made  up  out  of  my  own  silly  head  are  pronounced 
‘  charmingly  natural,  tender,  and  true.’  So  I  ’ll  comfort 
myself  with  that;  and  when  I ’m  ready,  I  ’ll  up  again  and 
take  another.” 


Domestic  Experiences 


341 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
DOMESTIC  EXPERIENCES 

I  IKE  most  other  young  matrons,  Meg  began  her 
married  life  with  the  determination  to  be  a 
model  housekeeper.  John  should  find  home  a 
paradise ;  he  should  always  see  a  smiling  face,  should 
fare  sumptuously  every  day,  and  never  know  the  loss  of 
a  button.  She  brought  so  much  love,  energy,  and  cheer¬ 
fulness  to  the  work  that  she  could  not  but  succeed,  in 
spite  of  some  obstacles.  Her  paradise  was  not  a  tran¬ 
quil  one;  for  the  little  woman  fussed,  was  over-anxious 
to  please,  and  bustled  about  like  a  true  Martha,  cumbered 
with  many  cares.  She  was  too  tired,  sometimes,  even  to 
smile ;  John  grew  dyspeptic  after  a  course  of  dainty 
dishes,  and  ungratefully  demanded  plain  fare.  As  for 
buttons,  she  soon  learned  to  wonder  where  they  went,  to 
shake  her  head  over  the  carelessness  of  men,  and  to 
threaten  to  make  him  sew  them  on  himself,  and  then  see 
if  his  work  would  stand  impatient  tugs  and  clumsy  fingers 
any  better  than  hers. 

They  were  very  happy,  even  after  they  discovered  that 
they  could  n’t  live  on  love  alone.  John  did  not  find 
Meg’s  beauty  diminished,  though  she  beamed  at  him 
from  behind  the  familiar  coffee-pot ;  nor  did  Meg  miss 
any  of  the  romance  from  the  daily  parting,  when  her 
husband  followed  up  his  kiss  with  the  tender  inquiry, 
“Shall  I  send  home  veal  or  mutton  for  dinner,  darling?  ” 
The  little  house  ceased  to  be  a  glorified  bower,  but  it 
became  a  home,  and  the  young  couple  soon  felt  that  it 
was  a  change  for  the  better.  At  first  they  played  keep- 
house,  and  frolicked  over  it  like  children  ;  then  John  took 


Little  Women 


3  42 

steadily  to  business,  feeling  the  cares  of  the  head  of  a 
family  upon  his  shoulders  ;  and  Meg  laid  by  her  cambric 
wrappers,  put  on  a  big  apron,  and  fell  to  work,  as  before 
said,  with  more  energy  than  discretion. 

While  the  cooking  mania  lasted  she  went  through  Mrs 
Cornelius’s  Receipt  Book  as  if  it  were  a  mathematical 
exercise,  working  out  the  problems  with  patience  and 
care.  Sometimes  her  family  were  invited  in  to  help  eat 
up  a  too  bounteous  feast  of  successes,  or  Lotty  would  be 
privately  despatched  with  a  batch  of  failures,  which  were 
to  be  concealed  from  all  eyes  in  the  convenient  stomachs 
of  the  little  Hummels.  An  evening  with  John  over  the 
account-books  usually  produced  a  temporary  lull  in  the 
culinary  enthusiasm,  and  a  frugal  fit  would  ensue,  during 
which  the  poor  man  was  put  through  a  course  of  bread¬ 
pudding,  hash,  and  warmed-over  coffee,  which  tried  his 
soul,  although  he  bore  it  with  praiseworthy  fortitude. 
Before  the  golden  mean  was  found,  however,  Meg  added 
to  her  domestic  possessions  what  young  couples  seldom 
get  on  long  without,  —  a  family  jar. 

Fired  with  a  housewifely  wish  to  see  her  store-room 
stocked  with  home-made  preserves,  she  undertook  to  put 
up  her  own  currant  jelly.  John  was  requested  to  order 
home  a  dozen  or  so  of  little  pots,  and  an  extra  quantity 
of  sugar,  for  their  own  currants  were  ripe,  and  were  to  be 
attended  to  at  once.  As  John  firmly  believed  that  “  my 
wife  ”  was  equal  to  anything,  and  took  a  natural  pride  in 
her  skill,  he  resolved  that  she  should  be  gratified,  and 
their  only  crop  of  fruit  laid  by  in  a  most  pleasing  form 
for  winter  use.  Home  came  four  dozen  delightful  little 
pots,  half  a  barrel  of  sugar,  and  a  small  boy  to  pick  the 
currants  for  her.  With  her  pretty  hair  tucked  into  a 
little  cap,  arms  bared  to  the  elbow,  and  a  checked  apron 
which  had  a  coquettish  look  in  spite  of  the  bib,  the  young 


Domestic  Experiences  343 

housewife  fell  to  work,  feeling  no  doubts  about  her  sue- 
cess;  for  had  n’t  she  seen  Hannah  do  it  hundreds  of 
times?  The  array  of  pots  rather  amazed  her  at  first,  but 
John  was  so  fond  of  jelly,  and  the  nice  little  jars  would 
look  so  well  on  the  top  shelf,  that  Meg  resolved  to  fill 
them  all,  and  spent  a  long  day  picking,  boiling,  straining, 
and  fussing  over  her  jelly.  She  did  her  best;  she  asked 
advice  of  Mrs.  Cornelius  ;  she  racked  her  brain  to  remem¬ 
ber  what  Hannah  did  that  she  had  left  undone ;  she 
reboiled,  resugared,  and  restrained,  but  that  dreadful 
stuff  wouldn’t  “7V//.” 

She  longed  to  run  home,  bib  and  all,  and  ask  mother 
to  lend  a  hand,  but  John  and  she  had  agreed  that  they 
would  never  annoy  any  one  with  their  private  worries, 
experiments,  or  quarrels.  They  had  laughed  over  that 
last  word  as  if  the  idea  it  suggested  was  a  most  prepos¬ 
terous  one ;  but  they  had  held  to  their  resolve,  and 
whenever  they  could  get  on  without  help  they  did  so, 
and  no  one  interfered,  for  Mrs.  March  had  advised  the 
plan.  So  Meg  wrestled  alone  with  the  refractory  sweet¬ 
meats  all  that  hot  summer  day,  and  at  five  o’clock  sat 
down  in  her  topsy-turvy  kitchen,  wrung  her  bedaubed 
hands,  lifted  up  her  voice  and  wept. 

Now,  in  the  first  flush  of  the  new  life,  she  had  often 
said,  — 

“  My  husband  shall  always  feel  free  to  bring  a  friend 
home  whenever  he  likes.  I  shall  always  be  prepared  ; 
there  shall  be  no  flurry,  no  scolding,  no  discomfort,  but 
a  neat  house,  a  cheerful  wife,  and  a  good  dinner.  John, 
dear,  never  stop  to  ask  my  leave,  invite  whom  you  please, 
and  be  sure  of  a  welcome  from  me.” 

How  charming  that  was,  to  be  sure !  John  quite 
glowed  with  pride  to  hear  her  say  it,  and  felt  what  a 
blessed  thing  it  was  to  have  a  superior  wife.  But, 


Little  Women 


344 

although  they  had  had  company  from  time  to  time,  it 
never  happened  to  be  unexpected,  and  Meg  had  never 
had  an  opportunity  to  distinguish  herself  till  now.  It 
always  happens  so  in  this  vale  of  tears ;  there  is  an  inevi¬ 
tability  about  such  things  which  we  can  only  wonder  at, 
deplore,  and  bear  as  we  best  can. 

If  John  had  not  forgotten  all  about  the  jelly,  it  really 
would  have  been  unpardonable  in  him  to  choose  that 
day,  of  all  the  days  in  the  year,  to  bring  a  friend  home 
to  dinner  unexpectedly.  Congratulating  himself  that  a 
handsome  repast  had  been  ordered  that  morning,  feeling 
sure  that  it  would  be  ready  to  the  minute,  and  indulging 
in  pleasant  anticipations  of  the  charming  effect  it  would 
produce,  when  his  pretty  wife  came  running  out  to 
meet  him,  he  escorted  his  friend  to  his  mansion,  with 
the  irrepressible  satisfaction  of  a  young  host  and 
husband. 

It  is  a  world  of  disappointments,  as  John  discovered 
when  he  reached  the  Dove-cote.  The  front  door  usually 
stood  hospitably  open;  now  it  was  not  only  shut,  but 
locked,  and  yesterday’s  mud  still  adorned  the  steps.  The 
parlor-windows  were  closed  and  curtained,  no  picture  of 
the  pretty  wife  sewing  on  the  piazza,  in  white,  with  a  dis¬ 
tracting  little  bow  in  her  hair,  or  a  bright-eyed  hostess, 
smiling  a  shy  welcome  as  she  greeted  her  guest.  Nothing 
of  the  sort,  for  not  a  soul  appeared,  but  a  sanguinary- 
looking  boy  asleep  under  the  currant-bushes. 

“  I ’m  afraid  something  has  happened.  Step  into  the 
garden,  Scott,  while  I  look  up  Mrs.  Brooke,”  said  John, 
alarmed  at  the  silence  and  solitude. 

Round  the  house  he  hurried,  led  by  a  pungent  smell  of 
burnt  sugar,  and  Mr.  Scott  strolled  after  him,  with  a 
queer  look  on  his  face.  He  paused  discreetly  at  a  dis¬ 
tance  when  Brooke  disappeared ;  but  he  could  both  see 


Domestic  Experiences  345 

and  hear,  and,  being  a  bachelor,  enjoyed  the  prospect 
mightily. 

In  the  kitchen  reigned  confusion  and  despair;  one 
edition  of  jelly  was  trickled  from  pot  to  pot,  another  lay 
upon  the  floor,  and  a  third  was  burning  gayly  on  the 
stove.  Lotty,  with  Teutonic  phlegm,  was  calmly  eating 
bread  and  currant  wine,  for  the  jelly  was  still  in  a  hope¬ 
lessly  liquid  state,  while  Mrs.  Brooke,  with  her  apron 
over  her  head,  sat  sobbing  dismally. 

“My  dearest  girl,  what  is  the  matter?”  cried  John, 
rushing  in,  with  awful  visions  of  scalded  hands,  sudden 
news  of  affliction,  and  secret  consternation  at  the  thought 
of  the  guest  in  the  garden. 

“  O  John,  I  am  so  tired  and  hot  and  cross  and  worried  ! 
I ’ve  been  at  it  till  I ’m  all  worn  out.  Do  come  and  help 
me  or  I  shall  die  !  ”  and  the  exhausted  housewife  cast 
herself  upon  his  breast,  giving  him  a  sweet  welcome  in 
every  sense  of  the  word,  for  her  pinafore  had  been  bap¬ 
tized  at  the  same  time  as  the  floor. 

“What  worries  you,  dear?  Has  anything  dreadful 
happened?”  asked  the  anxious  John,  tenderly  kissing 
the  crown  of  the  little  cap,  which  was  all  askew. 

“Yes,”  sobbed  Meg  despairingly. 

“Tell  me  quick,  then.  Don’t  cry,  I  can  bear  anything 
better  than  that.  Out  with  it,  love.” 

“  The  —  the  jelly  won’t  jell  and  I  don’t  know  what  to 
do!  ” 

John  Brooke  laughed  then  as  he  never  dared  to  laugh 
afterward ;  and  the  derisive  Scott  smiled  involuntarily 
as  he  heard  the  hearty  peal,  which  put  the  finishing 
stroke  to  poor  Meg’s  woe. 

“Is  that  all?  Fling  it  out  of  window,  and  don’t 
bother  any  more  about  it.  I  ’ll  buy  you  quarts  if 
you  want  it;  but  for  heaven’s  sake  don’t  have  hys* 

I 


1 


346  Little  Women 

terics,  for  I  ’ve  brought  Jack  Scott  home  to  dinner, 
and  —  ” 

John  got  no  further,  for  Meg  cast  him  off,  and  clasped 
her  hands  with  a  tragic  gesture  as  she  fell  into  a  chair, 
exclaiming  in  a  tone  of  mingled  indignation,  reproach, 
and  dismay,  — 

“A  man  to  dinner,  and  everything  in  a  mess!  John 
Brooke,  how  could  you  do  such  a  thing?” 

“  Hush,  he  ’s  in  the  garden  !  I  forgot  the  confounded 
jelly,  but  it  can’t  be  helped  now,”  said  John,  surveying 
the  prospect  with  an  anxious  eye. 

“  You  ought  to  have  sent  word,  or  told  me  this  morn¬ 
ing,  and  you  ought  to  have  remembered  how  busy  I 
was,”  continued  Meg  petulantly;  for  even  turtle-doves 
will  peck  when  ruffled. 

“  I  did  n’t  know  it  this  morning,  and  there  was  no  time 
to  send  word,  for  I  met  him  on  the  way  out.  I  never 
thought  of  asking  leave,  when  you  have  always  told  me 
to  do  as  I  liked.  I  never  tried  it  before,  and  hang 
me  if  I  ever  do  again  !  ”  added  John,  with  an  aggrieved 
air. 

“I  should  hope  not!  Take  him  away  at  once;  I 
can’t  see  him,  and  there  is  n’t  any  dinner.” 

“  Well,  I  like  that !  Where  ’s  the  beef  and  vegetables 
I  sent  home,  and  the  pudding  you  promised?”  cried 
John,  rushing  to  the  larder. 

“  I  had  n’t  time  to  cook  anything ;  I  meant  to  dine  at 
mother’s.  I ’m  sorry,  but  I  was  so  busy  ;  ”  and  Meg’s 
tears  began  again. 

John  was  a  mild  man,  but  he  was  human ;  and  after  a 
long  day’s  work,  to  come  home  tired,  hungry,  and  hope¬ 
ful,  to  find  a  chaotic  house,  an  empty  table,  and  a  cross 
wife  was  not  exactly  conducive  to  repose  of  mind  or 
manner.  He  restrained  himself,  however,  and  the  little 


Domestic  Experiences  347 

squall  would  have  blown  over,  but  for  one  unlucky 
word. 

“  It’s  a  scrape,  I  acknowledge;  but  if  you  will  lend  a 
hand,  we  ’ll  pull  through,  and  have  a  good  time  yet. 
Don’t  cry,  dear,  but  just  exert  yourself  a  bit,  and  knock 
us  up  something  to  eat.  We’re  both  as  hungry  as 
hunters,  so  we  sha’n’t  mind  what  it  is.  Give  us  the 
cold  meat,  and  bread  and  cheese;  we  won’t  ask  for 
jelly.” 

He  meant  it  for  a  good-natured  joke ;  but  that  one 
wo'rd  sealed  his  fate.  Meg  thought  it  was  too  cruel  to 
hint  about  her  sad  failure,  and  the  last  atom  of  patience 
vanished  as  he  spoke. 

“  You  must  get  yourself  out  of  the  scrape  as  you  can  ; 
I  ’m  too  used  up  to  ‘  exert  ’  myself  for  any  one.  It ’s 
like  a  man  to  propose  a  bone  and  vulgar  bread  and 
cheese  for  company.  I  won’t  have  anything  of  the  sort 
in  my  house.  Take  that  Scott  up  to  mother’s,  and  tell 
him  I ’m  away,  sick,  dead,  —  anything.  I  won’t  see  him, 
and  you  two  can  laugh  at  me  and  my  jelly  as  much  as 
you  like:  you  won’t  have  anything  else  here;”  and 
having  delivered  her  defiance  all  in  one  breath,  Meg 
cast  away  her  pinafore,  and  precipitately  left  the  field 
to  bemoan  herself  in  her  own  room. 

What  those  two  creatures  did  in  her  absence,  she 
never  knew;  but  Mr.  Scott  was  not  taken  ‘‘up  to 
mother’s,”  and  when  Meg  descended,  after  they  had 
strolled  away  together,  she  found  traces  of  a  promis¬ 
cuous  lunch  which  filled  her  with  horror.  Lotty  re¬ 
ported  that  they  had  eaten  “  a  much,  and  greatly 
laughed,  and  the  master  bid  her  throw  away  all  the 
sweet  stuff,  and  hide  the  pots.” 

Meg  longed  to  go  and  tell  mother ;  but  a  sense  of 
shame  at  her  own  shortcomings,  of  loyalty  to  John, 


Little  Women 


348 

“who  might  be  cruel,  but  nobody  should  know  it,” 
restrained  her ;  and  after  a  summary  clearing  up,  she 
dressed  herself  prettily,  and  sat  down  to  wait  for  John 
to  come  and  be  forgiven. 

Unfortunately,  John  did  n’t  come,  not  seeing  the  mat¬ 
ter  in  that  light.  He  had  carried  it  off  as  a  good  joke 
with  Scott,  excused  his  little  wife  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  played  the  host  so  hospitably  that  his  friend  en¬ 
joyed  the  impromptu  dinner,  and  promised  to  come 
again.  But  John  was  angry,  though  he  did  not  show 
it;  he  felt  that  Meg  had  got  him  into  a  scrape,  and 
then  deserted  him  in  his  hour  of  need.  “  It  was  n’t  fair 
to  tell  a  man  to  bring  folks  home  any  time,  with  perfect 
freedom,  and  when  he  took  you  at  your  word,  to  flame 
up  and  blame  him,  and  leave  him  in  the  lurch,  to  be 
laughed  at  or  pitied.  No,  by  George,  it  wasn’t!  and 
Meg  must  know  it.”  He  had  fumed  inwardly  during 
the  feast,  but  when  the  flurry  was  over,  and  he  strolled 
home,  after  seeing  Scott  off,  a  milder  mood  came  over 
him.  “Poor  little  thing!  it  was  hard  upon  her  when 
she  tried  so  heartily  to  please  me.  She  was  wrong,  of 
course,  but  then  she  was  young.  I  must  be  patient  and 
teach  her.”  He  hoped  she  had  not  gone  home  —  he 
hated  gossip  and  interference.  For  a  minute  he  was 
ruffled  again  at  the  mere  thought  of  it;  and  then  the 
fear  that  Meg  would  cry  herself  sick  softened  his  heart, 
and  sent  him  on  at  a  quicker  pace,  resolving  to  be  calm 
and  kind,  but  firm,  quite  firm,  and  show  her  where  she 
had  failed  in  her  duty  to  her  spouse. 

Meg  likewise  resolved  to  be  “  calm  and  kind,  but 
firm,”  and  show  him  his  duty.  She  longed  to  run  to 
meet  him,  and  beg  pardon,  and  be  kissed  and  com¬ 
forted,  as  she  was  sure  of  being;  but,  of  course,  she 
did  nothing  of  the  sort,  and  when  she  saw  John  com- 


Domestic  Experiences  349 

ing,  began  to  hum  quite  naturally,  as  she  rocked  and 
sewed,  like  a  lady  of  leisure  in  her  best  parlor. 

John  was  a  little  disappointed  not  to  find  a  tender 
Niobe;  but,  feeling  that  his  dignity  demanded  the  first 
apology,  he  made  none,  only  came  leisurely  in,  and 
laid  himself  upon  the  sofa,  with  the  singularly  relevant 
remark,  — 

“  We  are  going  to  have  a  new  moon,  my  dear.” 

“I’ve  no  objection,”  was  Meg’s  equally  soothing 
remark. 

A  few  other  topics  of  general  interest  were  introduced 
by  Mr.  Brooke,  and  wet-blanketed  by  Mrs.  Brooke,  and 
conversation  languished.  John  went  to  one  window, 'un¬ 
folded  his  paper,  and  wrapped  himself  in  it,  figuratively 
speaking.  Meg  went  to  the  other  window,  and  sewed  as 
if  new  rosettes  for  her  slippers  were  among  the  necessa¬ 
ries  of  life.  Neither  spoke ;  both  looked  quite  “  calm 
and  firm,”  and  both  felt  desperately  uncomfortable. 

“  Oh  dear,”  thought  Meg,  “  married  life  is  very  trying, 
and  does  need  infinite  patience,  as  well  as  love,  as  mother 
says.”  The  word  “  mother  ”  suggested  other  maternal 
counsels,  given  long  ago,  and  received  with  unbelieving 
protests. 

“John  is  a  good  man,  but  he  has  his  faults,  and  you 
must  learn  to  see  and  bear  with  them,  remembering  your 
own.  He  is  very  decided,  but  never  will  be  obstinate,  if 
you  reason  kindly,  not  oppose  impatiently.  He  is  very 
accurate,  and  particular  about  the  truth  — ■  a  good  trait, 
though  you  call  him  ‘  fussy.’  Never  deceive  him  by 
look  or  word,  Meg,  and  he  will  give  you  the  confidence 
you  deserve,  the  support  you  need.  He  has  a  temper, 
not  like  ours,  —  one  flash,  and  then  all  over,  —  but  the 
white,  still  anger,  that  is  seldom  stirred,  but  once  kin¬ 
dled,  is  hard  to  quench.  Be  careful,  very  careful,  not  to 


Little  Women 


35° 

wake  this  anger  against  yourself,  for  peace  and  happi¬ 
ness  depend  on  keeping  his  respect.  Watch  yourself,  be 
the  first  to  ask  pardon  if  you  both  err,  and  guard  against 
the  little  piques,  misunderstandings,  and  hasty  words 
that  often  pave  the  way  for  bitter  sorrow  and  regret.” 

These  words  came  back  to  Meg,  as  she  sat  sewing  in 
the  sunset,  especially  the  last.  This  was  the  first  serious 
disagreement ;  her  own  hasty  speeches  sounded  both 
silly  and  unkind,  as  she  recalled  them,  her  own  anger 
looked  childish  now,  and  thoughts  of  poor  John  coming 
home  to  such  a  scene  quite  melted  her  heart.  She 
glanced  at  him  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  but  he  did  not 
see  them ;  she  put  down  her  work  and  got  up,  thinking, 
“  I  will  be  the  first  to  say,  ‘  Forgive  me,’  ”  but  he  did 
not  seem  to  hear  her ;  she  went  very  slowly  across  the 
room,  for  pride  was  hard  to  swallow,  and  stood  by  him, 
but  he  did  not  turn  his  head.  For  a  minute  she  felt  as  if 
she  really  could  n’t  do  it ;  then  came  the  thought,  “  This 
is  the  beginning,  I  ’ll  do  my  part,  and  have  nothing  to 
reproach  myself  with,”  and  stooping  down,  she  softly 
kissed  her  husband  on  the  forehead.  Of  course  that 
settled  it;  the  penitent  kiss  was  better  than  a  world 
of  words,  and  John  had  her  on  his  knee  in  a  minute, 
saying  tenderly,  — 

“  It  was  too  bad  to  laugh  at  the  poor  little  jelly-pots. 
Forgive  me,  dear,  I  never  will  again  !  ” 

But  he  did,  oh  bless  you,  yes,  hundreds  of  times,  and 
so  did  Meg,  both  declaring  that  it  was  the  sweetest  jelly 
they  ever  made ;  for  family  peace  was  preserved  in  that 
little  family  jar. 

After  this,  Meg  had  Mr.  Scott  to  dinner  by  special 
invitation,  and  served  him  up  a  pleasant  feast  without 
a  cooked  wife  for  the  first  course ;  on  which  occasion 
she  was  so  gay  and  gracious,  and  made  everything  go 


Domestic  Experiences  351 

©ff  so  charmingly,  that  Mr.  Scott  told  John  he  was  a 
happy  fellow,  and  shook  his  head  over  the  hardships  of 
bachelorhood  all  the  way  home. 

In  the  autumn,  new  trials  and  experiences  came  to 
Meg.  Sallie  Moffat  renewed  her  friendship,  was  always 
running  out  for  a  dish  of  gossip  at  the  little  house,  or 
inviting  “  that  poor  dear”  to  come  in  and  spend  the  day 
at  the  big  house.  It  was  pleasant,  for  in  dull  weather 
Meg  often  felt  lonely;  all  were  busy  at  home,  John 
absent  till  night,  and  nothing  to  do  but  sew,  or  read, 
or  potter  about.  So  it  naturally  fell  out  that  Meg  got 
into  the  way  of  gadding  and  gossiping  with  her  friend. 
Seeing  Sallie’s  pretty  things  made  her  long  for  such,  and 
pity  herself  because  she  had  not  got  them.  Sallie  was 
very  kind,  and  often  offered  her  the  coveted  trifles ;  but 
Meg  declined  them,  knowing  that  John  wouldn’t  like  it; 
and  then  this  foolish  little  woman  went  and  did  what 
John  disliked  infinitely  worse. 

She  knew  her  husband’s  income,  and  she  loved  to 
feel  that  he  trusted  her,  not  only  with  his  happiness, 
but  what  some  men  seem  to  value  more,  —  his  money. 
She  knew  where  it  was,  was  free  to  take  what  she 
liked,  and  all  he  asked  was  that  she  should  keep  ac¬ 
count  of  every  penny,  pay  bills  once  a  month,  and 
remember  that  she  was  a  poor  man’s  wife.  Till  now, 
she  had  done  well,  been  prudent  and  exact,  kept  her 
little  account-books  neatly,  and  showed  them  to  him 
monthly  without  fear.  But  that  autumn  the  serpent 
got  into  Meg’s  paradise,  and  tempted  her,  like  many 
a  modern  Eve,  not  with  apples,  but  with  dress.  Meg 
didn’t  like  to  be  pitied  and  made  to  feel  poor;  it 
irritated  her,  but  she  was  ashamed  to  confess  it,  and 
now  and  then  she  tried  to  console  herself  by  buying 
something  pretty,  so  that  Sallie  need  n’t  think  she  had 


Little  Women 


352 

to  economize.  She  always  felt  wicked  after  it,  fof 
the  pretty  things  were  seldom  necessaries;  but  then 
they  cost  so  little,  it  wasn’t  worth  worrying  about;  so 
the  trifles  increased  unconsciously,  and  in  the  shopping 
excursions  she  was  no  longer  a  passive  looker-on. 

But  the  trifles  cost  more  than  one  would  imagine; 
and  when  she  cast  up  her  accounts  at  the  end  of  the 
month,  the  sum  total  rather  scared  her.  John  was 
busy  that  month,  and.  left  the  bills  to  her;  the  next 
month  he  was  absent;  but  the  third  he  had  a  grand 
quarterly  settling  up,  and  Meg  never  forgot  it.  A  few 
days  before  she  had  done  a  dreadful  thing,  and  it 
weighed  upon  her  conscience.  Sallie  had  been  buy¬ 
ing  silks,  and  Meg  longed  for  a  new  one, — just  a 
handsome  light  one  for  parties,  her  black  silk  was  so 
common,  and  thin  things  for  evening  wear  were  only 
proper  for  girls.  Aunt  March  usually  gave  the  sisters 
a  present  of  twenty-five  dollars  apiece  at  New  Year; 
that  was  only  a  month  to  wait,  and  here  was  a  lovely 
violet  silk  going  at  a  bargain,  and  she  had  the  money, 
if  she  only  dared  to  take  it.  John  always  said  what  was 
his  was  hers ;  but  would  he  think  it  right  to  spend  not 
only  the  prospective  five-and-twenty,  but  another  five- 
and-twenty  out  of  the  household  fund  ?  That  was  the 
question.  Sallie  had  urged  her  to  do  it,  had  offered 
to  loan  the  money,  and  wjth  the  best  intentions  in  life, 
had  tempted  Meg  beyond  her  strength.  In  an  evil 
moment  the  shopman  held  up  the  lovely,  shimmering 
folds,  and  said,  “  A  bargain,  I  assure  you,  ma’am.” 
She  answered,  “I’ll  take  it;”  and  it  was  cut  off  and 
paid  for,  and  Sallie  had  exulted,  and  she  had  laughed 
as  if  it  were  a  thing  of  no  consequence,  and  driven 
away,  feeling  as  if  she  had  stolen  something,  and  the 
police  were  after  her. 


Domestic  Experiences  353 

When  she  got  home,  she  tried  to  assuage  the  pangs 
of  remorse  by  spreading  forth  the  lovely  silk;  but  it 
looked  less  silvery  now,  did  n’t  become  her,  after  all, 
and  the  words  “  fifty  dollars  ”  seemed  stamped  like  a 
pattern  down  each  breadth.  She  put  it  away  ;  but  it 
haunted  her,  not  delightfully,  as  a  new  dress  shoub 
but  dreadfully,  like  the  ghost  of  a  folly  that  was  not 
easily  laid.  When  John  got  out  his  books  that  night, 
Meg’s  heart  sank,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  her  married 
life,  she  was  afraid  of  her  husband.  The  kind,  brown 
eyes  looked  as  if  they  could  be  stern ;  and  though  he 
was  unusually  merry,  she  fancied  he  had  found  her  out, 
but  did  n’t  mean  to  let  her  know  it.  The  house-bills 
were  all  paid,  the  books  all  in  order.  John  had  praised 
her,  and  was  undoing  the  old  pocket-book  which  they 
called  the  “bank,”  when  Meg,  knowing  that  it  was 
quite  empty,  stopped  his  hand,  saying  nervously,  — 

“You  have  n’t  seen  my  private  expense  book  yet.” 

John  never  asked  to  see  it;  but  she  always  insisted 
on  his  doing  so,  and  used  to  enjoy  his  masculine  amaze¬ 
ment  at  the  queer  things  women  wanted,  and  made  him 
guess  what  “piping”  was,  demand  fiercely  the  mean¬ 
ing  of  a  “  hug-me-tight,”  or  wonder  how  a  little  thing 
composed  of  three  rosebuds,  a  bit  of  velvet,  and  a  pair 
of  strings,  could  possibly  be  a  bonnet,  and  cost  five  or 
six  dollars.  That  night  he  looked  as  if  he  would  like 
the  fun  of  quizzing  her  figures  and  pretending  to  be 
horrified  at  her  extravagance,  as  he  often  did,  being 
particularly  proud  of  his  prudent  wife. 

The  little  book  was  brought  slowly  out,  and  laid 
down  before  him.  Meg  got  behind  his  chair  under 
pretence  of  smoothing  the  wrinkles  out  of  his  tired 
forehead,  and  standing  there,  she  said,  with  her  panic 
increasing  with  every  word,  — 

23 


Little  Women 


354 

“John,  dear,  I’m  ashamed  to  show  you  my  book, 
for  I ’ve  really  been  dreadfully  extravagant  lately.  I  go 
about  so  much  I  must  have  things,  you  know,  and  Sallie 
advised  my  getting  it,  so  I  did;  and  my  New-Year’s 
money  will  partly  pay  for  it :  but  I  was  sorry  after  I ’d 
done  it,  for  I  knew  you ’d  think  it  wrong  in  me.” 

John  laughed  and  drew  her  round  beside  him,  say- 
ing  good-humoredly,  “  Don’t  go  and  hide.  I  won’t 
beat  you  if  you  have  got  a  pair  of  killing  boots;  I’m 
rather  proud  of  my  wife’s  feet,  and  don’t  mind  if  she 
does  pay  eight  or  nine  dollars  for  her  boots,  if  they 
are  good  ones.” 

That  had  been  one  of  her  last  “  trifles,”  and  John’s 
eye  had  fallen  on  it  as  he  spoke.  “  Oh,  what  will  he 
say  when  he  comes  to  that  awful  fifty  dollars !  ”  thought 
Meg,  with  a  shiver. 

“  It ’s  worse  than  boots,  it ’s  a  silk  dress,”  she  said, 
with  the  calmness  of  desperation,  for  she  wanted  the 
worst  over. 

“Well,  dear,  what  is  the  ‘  dem’d  total,’  as  Mr.  Man- 
talini  says?  ” 

That  did  n’t  sound  like  John,  and  she  knew  he  was 
looking  up  at  her  with  the  straightforward  look  that 
she  had  always  been  ready  to  meet  and  answer  with 
one  as  frank  till  now.  She  turned  the  page  and  her 
head  at  the  same  time,  pointing  to  the  sum  which 
would  have  been  bad  enough  without  the  fifty,  but 
which  was  appalling  to  her  with  that  added.  For  a 
minute  the  room  was  very  still;  then  John  said  slowly, 
—  but  she  could  feel  it  cost  him  an  effort  to  express 
no  displeasure,  — 

“  Well,  I  don’t  know  that  fifty  is  much  for  a  dress, 
with  all  the  furbelows  and  notions  you  have  to  have 
to  finish  it  off  these  days.” 


Domestic  Experiences  355 

“  It  isn’t  made  or  trimmed,”  sighed  Meg  faintly,  for 
a  sudden  recollection  of  the  cost  still  to  be  incurred 
quite  overwhelmed  her. 

“  Twenty-five  yards  of  silk  seems  a  good  deal  to 
cover  one  small  woman,  but  I ’ve  no  doubt  my  wife 
will  look  as  fine  as  Ned  Moffat’s  when  she  gets  it 
on,”  said  John  dryly. 

“I  know  you  are  angry,  John,  but  I  can’t  help  it.  I 
don’t  mean  to  waste  your  money,  and  I  did  n’t  think 
those  little  things  would  count  up  so.  I  can’t  resist 
them  when  I  see  Sallie  buying  all  she  wants,  and 
pitying  me  because  I  don’t.  I  try  to  be  contented,  but 
it  is  hard,  and  I  ’m  tired  of  being  poor.” 

The  last  words  were  spoken  so  low  she  thought  he 
did  not  hear  them,  but  he  did,  and  they  wounded  him 
deeply,  for  he  had  denied  himself  many  pleasures  for 
Meg’s  sake.  She  could  have  bitten  her  tongue  out  the 
minute  she  had  said  it,  for  John  pushed  the  books 
away,  and  got  up,  saying,  with  a  little  quiver  in  his 
voice,  “  I  was  afraid  of  this ;  I  do  my  best,  Meg.”  If 
he  had  scolded  her,  or  even  shaken  her,  it  would  not 
have  broken  her  heart  like  those  few  words.  She  ran 
to  him  and  held  him  close,  crying,  with  repentant 
tears,  “  O  John,  my  dear,  kind,  hard-working  boy,  I 
did  n’t  mean  it !  It  was  so  wicked,  so  untrue  and 
ungrateful,  how  could  I  say  it !  Oh,  how  could  I 
say  it !  ” 

He  was  very  kind,  forgave  her  readily,  and  did  not 
utter  one  reproach ;  but  Meg  knew  that  she  had  done 
and  said  a  thing  which  would  not  be  forgotten  soon, 
although  he  might  never  allude  to  it  again.  She  had 
promised  to  love  him  for  better  for  worse ;  and  then 
she,  his  wife,  had  reproached  him  with  his  poverty,  after 
spending  his  earnings  recklessly.  It  was  dreadful ;  and 


Little  Women 


356 

the  worst  of  it  was  John  went  on  so  quietly  afterward, 
just  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  except  that  he  stayed 
in  town  later,  and  worked  at  night  when  she  had  gone 
to  cry  herself  to  sleep.  A  week  of  remorse  nearly 
made  Meg  sick;  and  the  discovery  that  John  had 
countermanded  the  order  for  his  new  great-coat  re¬ 
duced  her  to  a  state  of  despair  which  was  pathetic  to 
behold.  He  had  simply  said,  in  answer  to  her  sur¬ 
prised  inquiries  as  to  the  change,  “  I  can’t  afford  it, 
my  dear.” 

Meg  said  no  more,  but  a  few  minutes  after  he  found 
her  in  the  hall,  with  her  face  buried  in  the  old  great¬ 
coat,  crying  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

They  had  a  long  talk  that  night,  and  Meg  learned  to 
love  her  husband  better  for  his  poverty,  because  it  seemed 
to  have  made  a  man  of  him,  given  him  the  strength  and 
courage  to  fight  his  own  way,  and  taught  him  a  tender 
patience  with  which  to  bear  and  comfort  the  natural 
longings  and  failures  of  those  he  loved. 

Next  day  she  put  her  pride  in  her  pocket,  went  to 
Sallie,  told  the  truth,  and  asked  her  to  buy  the  silk  as  a 
favor.  The  good-natured  Mrs.  Moffat  willingly  did  so, 
and  had  the  delicacy  not  to  make  her  a  present  of  it 
immediately  afterward.  Then  Meg  ordered  home  the 
great -coat,  and,  when  John  arrived,  she  put  it  on,  and 
asked  him  how  he  liked  her  new  silk  gown.  One  can 
imagine  what  answer  he  made,  how  he  received  his  pres¬ 
ent,  and  what  a  blissful  state  of  things  ensued.  John  came 
home  early,  Meg  gadded  no  more ;  and  that  great-coat 
was  put  on  in  the  morning  by  a  very  happy  husband,  and 
taken  off  at  night  by  a  most  devoted  little  wife.  So  the 
year  rolled  round,  and  at  midsummer  there  came  to 
Meg  a  new  experience, —  the  deepest  and  tenderest  of 
a  woman’s  life. 


Domestic  Experiences  357 

Laurie  came  sneaking  into  the  kitchen  of  the  Dove- 
cote,  one  Saturday,  with  an  excited  face,  and  was  re¬ 
ceived  with  the  clash  of  cymbals;  for  Hannah  clapped 
her  hands  with  a  saucepan  in  one  and  the  cover  in  the 
other. 

“How’s  the  little  mamma?  Where  is  everybody? 
Why  didn’t  you  tell  me  before  I  came  home?”  began 
Laurie,  in  a  loud  whisper. 

“  Happy  as  a  queen,  the  dear  !  Every  soul  of  ’em  is 
upstairs  a  worshipin’ ;  we  did  n’t  want  no  hurrycanes 
round.  Now  you  go  into  the  parlor,  and  I  ’ll  send  ’em 
down  to  you,”  with  which  somewhat  involved  reply 
Hannah  vanished,  chuckling  ecstatically. 

Presently  Jo  appeared,  proudly  bearing  a  flannel 
bundle  laid  forth  upon  a  large  pillow.  Jo’s  face  was 
very  sober,  but  her  eyes  twinkled,  and  there  was  an 
odd  sound  in  her  voice  of  repressed  emotion  of  some 
sort. 

« 

“  Shut  your  eyes  and  hold  out  your  arms,”  she  said 
invitingly. 

Laurie  backed  precipitately  into  a  corner,  and  put  his 
hands  behind  him  with  an  imploring  gesture:  “No, 
thank  you,  I ’d  rather  not.  I  shall  drop  it  or  smash  it, 
as  sure  as  fate.” 

“  Then  you  sha’n’t  see  your  nevvy,”  said  Jo  decidedly, 
turning  as  if  to  go. 

“  I  will,  I  will !  only  you  must  be  responsible  for  dam¬ 
ages  ;  ”  and,  obeying  orders,  Laurie  heroically  shut  his 
eyes  while  something  was  put  into  his  arms.  A  peal  of 
laughter  from  Jo,  Amy,  Mrs.  March,  Hannah,  and  John 
caused  him  to  open  them  the  next  minute,  to  find  him¬ 
self  invested  with  two  babies  instead  of  one. 

No  wonder  they  laughed,  for  the  expression  of  his  face 
was  droll  enough  to  convulse  a  Quaker,  as  he  stood  and 


Little  Women 


358 

stared  wildly  from  the  unconscious  innocents  to  the  hila¬ 
rious  spectators,  with  such  dismay  that  Jo  sat  down  on 
the  floor  and  screamed. 

“Twins,  by  Jupiter!”  was  all  he  said  for  a  minute; 
then,  turning  to  the  women  with  an  appealing  look  that 
was  comically  piteous,  he  added,  “  Take  ’em  quick,  some¬ 
body  !  I  ’m  going  to  laugh,  and  I  shall  drop  ’em.” 

John  rescued  his  babies,  and  marched  up  and  down, 
with  one  on  each  arm,  as  if  already  initiated  into  the 
mysteries  of  baby-tending,  while  Laurie  laughed  till  the 
tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

“  It ’s  the  best  joke  of  the  season,  is  n’t  it?  I  would  n’t 
have  you  told,  for  I  set  my  heart  on  surprising  you,  and 
I  flatter  myself  I’ve  done  it,”  said  Jo,  when  she  got  her 
breath. 

“  I  never  was  more  staggered  in  my  life.  Is  n’t  it  fun  ? 
Are  they  boys?  What  are  you  going  to  name  them? 
Let ’s  have  another  look.  Hold  me  up,  Jo ;  for  upon 
my  life  it ’s  one  too  many  for  me,”  returned  Laurie,  re¬ 
garding  the  infants  with  the  air  of  a  big,  benevolent 
Newfoundland  looking  at  a  pair  of  infantile  kittens. 

“Boy  and  girl.  Are  n’t  they  beauties?”  said  the 
proud  papa,  beaming  upon  the  little,  red  squirmers  as  if 
they  were  unfledged  angels. 

“  Most  remarkable  children  I  ever  saw.  Which  is 
which?  ”  and  Laurie  bent  like  a  well-sweep  to  examine 
the  prodigies. 

“  Amy  put  a  blue  ribbon  on  the  boy  and  a  pink  on 
the  girl,  French  fashion,  so  you  can  always  tell.  Besides, 
one  has  blue  eyes  and  one  brown.  Kiss  them,  Uncle 
Teddy,”  said  wicked  Jo. 

“  I  ’m  afraid  they  might  n’t  like  it,”  began  Laurie,  with 
unusual  timidity  in  such  matters. 

:i  Of  course  they  will ;  they  are  used  to  it  now.  Do 


Calls 


359 


it  this  minute,  sir!  ”  commanded  Jo,  fearing  he  might 
propose  a  proxy. 

Laurie  screwed  up  his  face,  and  obeyed  with  a  gin¬ 
gerly  peck  at  each  little  cheek  that  produced  another 
laugh,  and  made  the  babies  squeal. 

“  There,  I  knew  they  did  n’t  like  it !  That’s  the  boy; 
see  him  kick;  he  hits  out  with  his  fists  like  a  good  one. 
Now  then,  young  Brooke,  pitch  in  to  a  man  of  your  own 
size,  will  you?”  cried  Laurie,  delighted  with  a  poke  in 
the  face  from  a  tiny  fist,  flapping  aimlessly  about. 

“  He’s  to  be  named  John  Laurence,  and  the  girl  Mar¬ 
garet,  after  mother  and  grandmother.  We  shall  call  her 
Daisy,  so  as  not  to  have  two  Megs,  and  I  suppose  the 
mannie  will  be  Jack,  unless  we  find  a  better  name,”  said 
Amy,  with  aunt-like  interest. 

“  Name  him  Demijohn,  and  call  him  ‘Demi  ’  for  short,” 
said  Laurie. 

“  Daisy  and  Demi, — just  the  thing!  I  knew  Teddy 
would  do  it,”  cried  Jo,  clapping  her  hands. 

Teddy  certainly  had  done  it  that  time,  for  the  babies 
were  “  Daisy  ”  and  “  Demi  ”  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


CALLS 


OME,  Jo,  it ’s  time.” 
“  For  what?  ” 


“  You  don’t  mean  to  say  you  have  forgotten 


that  you  promised  to  make  half  a  dozen  calls  with  me 
to-day?  ” 

“  I ’ve  done  a  good  many  rash  and  foolish  things  in 
my  life,  but  I  don’t  think  I  ever  was  mad  enough  to  say 


360  Little  Women 

I  ’d  make  six  calls  in  one  day,  when  a  single  one  upsets 
me  for  a  week.” 

“  Yes,  you  did;  it  was  a  bargain  between  us.  I  was 
to  finish  the  crayon  of  Beth  for  you,  and  you  were  to  go 
properly  with  me,  and  return  our  neighbors’  visits.” 

“  If  it  was  fair  —  that  was  in  the  bond  ;  and  I  stand  to 
the  letter  of  my  bond,  Shylock.  There  is  a  pile  of  clouds 
in  the  east;  it’s  not  fair,  and  I  don’t  go.” 

“  Now,  that’s  shirking.  It’s  a  lovely  day,  no  pros¬ 
pect  of  rain,  and  you  pride  yourself  on  keeping  prom¬ 
ises  ;  so  be  honorable ;  come  and  do  your  duty,  and 
then  be  at  peace  for  another  six  months.” 

At  that  minute  Jo  was  particularly  absorbed  in  dress¬ 
making  ;  for  she  was  mantua-maker  general  to  the  fam¬ 
ily,  and  took  especial  credit  to  herself  because  she 
could  use  a  needle  as  well  as  a  pen.  It  was  very  pro¬ 
voking  to  be  arrested  in  the  act  of  a  first  trying-on,  and 
ordered  out  to  make  calls  in  her  best  array,  on  a  warm 
July  day.  She  hated  calls  of  the  formal  sort,  and  never 
made  any  till  Amy  compelled  her  with  a  bargain,  bribe, 
or  promise.  In  the  present  instance,  there  was  no  es¬ 
cape  ;  and  having  clashed  her  scissors  rebelliously,  while 
protesting  that  she  smelt  thunder,  she  gave  in,  put  away 
her  work,  and  taking  up  her  hat  and  gloves  with  an  air 
of  resignation,  told  Amy  the  victim  was  ready. 

“Jo  March,  you  are  perverse  enough  to  provoke  a 
saint!  You  don’t  intend  to  make  calls  in  that  state, 
I  hope,”  cried  Amy,  surveying  her  with  amazement. 

“Why  not?  I’m  neat  and  cool  and  comfortable; 
quite  proper  for  a  dusty  walk  on  a  warm  day.  If 
people  care  more  for  my  clothes  than  they  do  for  me, 
I  don’t  wish  to  see  them.  You  can  dress  for  both,  and 
be  as  elegant  as  you  please:  it  pays  for  you  to  be  fine; 
it  does  n’t  for  me,  and  furbelows  only  worry  me.” 


Calls 


361 

“  Oh  dear  !  ”  sighed  Amy;  “  now  she ’s  in  a  contrary 
fit,  and  will  drive  me  distracted  before  I  can  get  her 
properly  ready.  I  ’m  sure  it ’s  no  pleasure  for  me  to  go 
to-day,  but  it ’s  a  debt  we  owe  society,  and  there ’s  no 
one  to  pay  it  but  you  and  me.  I  ’ll  do  anything  for 
you,  Jo,  if  you  ’ll  only  dress  yourself  nicely,  and  come 
and  help  me  do  the  civil.  You  can  talk  so  well,  look  so 
aristocratic  in  your  best  things,  and  behave  so  beauti¬ 
fully,  if  you  try,  that  I ’m  proud  of  you.  I ’m  afraid  to 
go  alone;  do  come  and  take  care  of  me.” 

“You’re  an  artful  little  puss  to  flatter  and  wheedle 
your  cross  old  sister  in  that  way.  The  idea  of  my  being 
aristocratic  and  well-bred,  and  your  being  afraid  to  go 
anywhere  alone !  I  don’t  know  which  is  the  most 
absurd.  Well,  I  ’ll  go  if  I  must,  and  do  my  best.  You 
shall  be  commander  of  the  expedition,  and  I  ’ll  obey 
blindly;  will  that  satisfy  you?”  said  Jo,  with  a  sudden 
change  from  perversity  to  lamb-like  submission. 

“You’re  a  perfect  cherub!  Now  put  on  all  your 
best  things,  and  I  ’ll  tell  you  how  to  behave  at  each 
place,  so  that  you  will  make  a  good  impression.  I 
want  people  to  like  you,  and  they  would  if  you ’d  only 
try  tc  be  a  little  more  agreeable.  Do  your  hair  the 
pretty  way,  and  put  the  pink  rose  in  your  bonnet;  it’s 
becoming,  and  you  look  too  sober  in  your  plain  suit. 
Take  your  light  gloves  and  the  embroidered  handker¬ 
chief.  We  ’ll  stop  at  Meg’s,  and  borrow  her  white  sun¬ 
shade,  and  then  you  can  have  my  dove-colored  one.” 

While  Amy  dressed,  she  issued  her  orders,  and  Jo 
obeyed  them  ;  not  without  entering  her  protest,  how¬ 
ever,  for  she  sighed  as  she  rustled  into  her  new  organdie, 
frowned  darkly  at  herself  as  she  tied  her  bonnet  strings 
in  an  irreproachable  bow,  wrestled  viciously  with  pins 
as  she  put  on  her  collar,  wrinkled  up  her  features  gem 


Little  Women 


362 

erally  as  she  shook  out  the  handkerchief,  whose  em* 
broidery  was  as  irritating  to  her  nose  as  the  present 
mission  was  to  her  feelings  ;  and  when  she  had  squeezed 
her  hands  into  tight  gloves  with  three  buttons  and  a 
tassel,  as  the  last  touch  of  elegance,  she  turned  to  Amy 
with  an  imbecile  expression  of  countenance,  saying 
meekly,  — 

“I’m  perfectly  miserable;  but  if  you  consider  me 
presentable,  I  die  happy.” 

“  You  are  highly  satisfactory;  turn  slowly  round,  and 
let  me  get  a  careful  view.”  Jo  revolved,  and  Amy  gave 
a  touch  here  and  there,  then  fell  back,  with  her  head  on 
one  side,  observing  graciously,  “Yes,  you’ll  do;  your 
head  is  all  I  could  ask,  for  that  white  bonnet  with  the  rose 
is  quite  ravishing.  Hold  back  your  shoulders,  and  carry 
your  hands  easily,  no  matter  if  your  gloves  do  pinch. 
There’s  one  thing  you  can  do  well,  Jo,  that  is,  wear 
a  shawl  —  I  can’t;  but  it’s  very  nice  to  see  you,  and 
I  ’m  so  glad  Aunt  March  gave  you  that  lovely  one ;  it ’s 
simple,  but  handsome,  and  those  folds  over  the  arm  are 
really  artistic.  Is  the  point  of  my  mantle  in  the  middle, 
and  have  I  looped  my  dress  evenly?  I  like  to  show  my 
boots,  for  my  feet  are  pretty,  though  my  nose  is  n’t.” 

“You  are  a  thing  of  beauty  and  a  joy  forever,”  said 
Jo,  looking  through  her  hand  with  the  air  of  a  connois¬ 
seur  at  the  blue  feather  against  the  gold  hair.  “  Am  I 
to  drag  my  best  dress  through  the  dust,  or  loop  it  up, 
please,  ma’am  ?  ” 

“  Hold  it  up  when  you  walk,  but  drop  it  in  the  house; 
the  sweeping  style  suits  you  best,  and  you  must  learn  to 
trail  your  skirts  gracefully.  You  haven’t  half  buttoned 
one  cuff;  do  it  at  once.  You  ’ll  never  look  finished  if 
you  are  not  careful  about  the  little  details,  for  they 
make  up  the  pleasing  whole.” 


Calls 


363 

4 

Jo  sighed,  and  proceeded  to  burst  the  buttons  off  her 
glove,  in  doing  up  her  cuff;  but  at  last  both  were  ready, 
and  sailed  away,  looking  as  “  pretty  as  picters,”  Hannah 
said,  as  she  hung  out  of  the  upper  window  to  watch 
them. 

“Now,  Jo  dear,  the  Chesters  consider  themselves 
very  elegant  people,  so  I  want  you  to  put  on  your  best 
deportment.  Don’t  make  any  of  your  abrupt  remarks, 
or  do  anything  odd,  will  you?  Just  be  calm,  cool,  and 
quiet, — that’s  safe  and  ladylike;  and  you  can  easily 
do  it  for  fifteen  minutes,”  said  Amy,  as  they  approached 
the  first  place,  having  borrowed  the  white  parasol  and 
been  inspected  by  Meg,  with  a  baby  on  each  arm. 

“Let  me  see.  ‘Calm,  cool,  and  quiet,’ — yes,  I 
think  I  can  promise  that.  I ’ve  played  the  part  of  a 
prim  young  lady  on  the  stage,  and  I  ’ll  try  it  off  My 
powers  are  great,  as  you  shall  see;  so  be  easy  in  your 
mind,  my  child.” 

Amy  looked  relieved,  but  naughty  Jo  took  her  at  her 
word ;  for,  during  the  first  call,  she  sat  with  every  limb 
gracefully  composed,  every  fold  correctly  draped,  calm 
as  a  summer  sea,  cool  as  a  snow-bank,  and  as  silent  as  a 
sphinx.  In  vain  Mrs.  Chester  alluded  to  her  “  charming 
novel,”  and  the  Misses  Chester  introduced  parties,  pic¬ 
nics,  the  opera,  and  the  fashions ;  each  and  all  were 
answered  by  a  smile,  a  bow,  and  a  demure  “Yes”  or 
“  No,”  with  the  chill  on.  In  vain  Amy  telegraphed  the 
word  “Talk,”  tried  to  draw  her  out,  and  administered 
covert  pokes  with  her  foot.  Jo  sat  as  if  blandly 
unconscious  of  it  all,  with  deportment  like  Maud’s  face, 
“  icily  regular,  splendidly  null.” 

“  What  a  haughty,  uninteresting  creature  that  oldest 
Miss  March  is  !  ”  was  the  unfortunately  audible  remark 
of  one  of  the  ladies,  as  the  door  closed  upon  their 


Little  Women 


36+ 

a 

guests.  Jo  laughed  noiselessly  all  through  the  hall,  but 
Amy  looked  disgusted  at  the  failure  of  her  instructions, 
and  very  naturally  laid  the  blame  upon  Jo. 

“How  could  you  mistake  me  so?  I  merely  meant 
you  to  be  properly  dignified  and  composed,  and  you 
made  yourself  a  perfect  stock  and  stone.  Try  to  be 
sociable  at  the  Lambs,’  gossip  as  other  girls  do,  and  be 
interested  in  dress  and  flirtations  and  whatever  nonsense 
comes  up.  They  move  in  the  best  society,  are  valuable 
persons  for  us  to  know,  and  I  would  n’t  fail  to  make  a 
good  impression  there  for  anything.’’ 

“  I  ’ll  be  agreeable ;  I  ’ll  gossip  and  giggle,  and  have 
horrors  and  raptures  over  any  trifle  you  like.  I  rather 
enjoy  this,  and  now  I  ’ll  imitate  what  is  called  ‘  a  charm¬ 
ing  girl ;  ’  I  can  do  it,  for  I  have  May  Chester  as  a 
model,  and  I  ’ll  improve  upon  her.  See  if  the  Lambs 
don’t  say,  ‘What  a  lively,  nice  creature  that  Jo  March 
is !  ’  ” 

Amy  felt  anxious,  as  well  she  might,  for  when  Jo 
turned  freakish  there  was  no  knowing  where  she  would 
stop.  Amy’s  face  was  a  study  when  she  saw  her  sister 
skim  into  the  next  drawing-room,  kiss  all  the  young 
ladies  with  effusion,  beam  graciously  upon  the  young 
gentlemen,  and  join  in  the  chat  with  a  spirit  which 
amazed  the  beholder.  Amy  was  taken  possession  of  by 
Mrs.  Lamb,  with  whom  she  was  a  favorite,  and  forced 
to  hear  a  long  account  of  Lucretia’s  last  attack,  while 
three  delightful  young  gentlemen  hovered  near,  waiting 
for  a  pause  when  they  might  rush  in  and  rescue  her. 
So  situated,  she  was  powerless  to  check  Jo,  who  seemed 
possessed  by  a  spirit  of  mischief,  and  talked  av/ay  as 
volubly  as  the  old  lady.  A  knot  of  heads  gathered 
about  her,  and  Amy  strained  her  ears  to  hear  what  was 
going  on ;  for  broken  sentences  filled  her  with  alarm, 


Calls 


365 

round  eyes  and  uplifted  hands  tormented  her  with  curi¬ 
osity,  and  frequent  peals  of  laughter  made  her  wild  to 
share  the  fun.  One  may  imagine  her  suffering  on  over¬ 
hearing  fragments  of  this  sort  of  conversation  :  — 

“  She  rides  splendidly,  —  who  taught  her?  ” 

“No  one;  she  used  to  practise  mounting,  holding 
the  reins,  and  sitting  straight  on  an  old  saddle  in  a  tree. 
Now  she  rides  anything,  for  she  does  n’t  know  what  fear 
is,  and  the  stable-man  lets  her  have  horses  cheap,  be¬ 
cause  she  trains  them  to  carry  ladies  so  well.  She  has 
such  a  passion  for  it,  I  often  tell  her  if  everything 
else  fails  she  can  be  a  horse-breaker,  and  get  her 
living  so.” 

At  this  awful  speech  Amy  contained  herself  with 
difficulty,  for  the  impression  was  being  given  that  she 
was  rather  a  fast  young  lady,  which  was  her  especial 
aversion.  But  what  could  she  do  ?  for  the  old  lady  was 
in  the  middle  of  her  story,  and  long  before  it  was  done 
Jo  was  off  again,  making  more  droll  revelations,  and 
committing  still  more  fearful  blunders. 

“  Yes,  Amy  was  in  despair  that  day,  for  all  the  good 
beasts  were  gone,  and  of  three  left,  one  was  lame,  one 
blind,  and  the  other  so  balky  that  you  had  to  put  dirt 
in  his  mouth  before  he  would  start.  Nice  animal  for  a 
pleasure  party,  was  n’t  it?  ” 

“  Which  did  she  choose?  ”  asked  one  of  the  laughing 
gentlemen,  who  enjoyed  the  subject. 

“  None  of  them;  she  heard  of  a  young  horse  at  the 
farmhouse  over  the  river,  and,  though  a  lady  had  never 
ridden  him,  she  resolved  to  try,  because  he  was  hand¬ 
some  and  spirited.  Her  struggles  were  really  pathetic ; 
there  was  no  one  to  bring  the  horse  to  the  saddle,  so 
she  took  the  saddle  to  the  horse.  My  dear  creature, 
she  actually  rowed  it  over  the  river,  put  it  on  her  head, 


366  Little  Women 

and  marched  up  to  the  barn  to  the  utter  amazement  of 
the  old  man  ! 

“  Did  she  ride  the  horse?  ” 

“  Of  course  she  did,  and  had  a  Capital  time.  I  ex¬ 
pected  to  see  her  brought  home  in  fragments,  but  she 
managed  him  perfectly,  and  was  the  life  of  the  party.” 

“Well,  I  call  that  plucky!”  and  young  Mr.  Lamb 
turned  an  approving  glance  upon  Amy,  wondering  what 
his  mother  could  be  saying  to  make  the  girl  look  so 
red  and  uncomfortable. 

She  was  still  redder  and  more  uncomfortable  a  mo¬ 
ment  after,  when  a  sudden  turn  in  the  conversation 
introduced  the  subject  of  dress.  One  of  the  young 
ladies  asked  Jo  where  she  got  the  pretty  drab  hat  she 
wore  to  the  picnic  ;  and  stupid  Jo,  instead  of  mentioning 
the  place  where  it  was  bought  two  years  ago,  must  needs 
answer,  with  unnecessary  frankness,  “  Oh,  Amy  painted 
it ;  you  can’t  buy  those  soft  shades,  so  we  paint  ours 
any  color  we  like.  It ’s  a  great  comfort  to  have  an 
artistic  sister.” 

“  Is  n’t  that  an  original  idea?  ”  cried  Miss  Lamb,  who 
found  Jo  great  fun. 

“  That ’s  nothing  compared  to  some  of  her  brilliant 
performances.  There ’s  nothing  the  child  can’t  do.  Why, 
she  wanted  a  pair  of  blue  boots  for  Sallie’s  party,  so 
she  just  painted  her  soiled  white  ones  the  loveliest  shade 
of  sky-blue  you  ever  saw,  and  they  looked  exactly  like 
satin,”  added  Jo,  with  an  air  of  pride  in  her  sister’s 
accomplishments  that  exasperated  Amy  till  she  felt  that 
it  would  be  a  relief  to  throw  her  card-case  at  her. 

“  We  read  a  story  of  yours  the  other  day,  and  enjoyed 
it  very  much,”  observed  the  elder  Miss  Lamb,  wishing 
to  compliment  the  literary  lady,  who  did  not  look  the 
character  just  then,  it  must  be  confessed. 


Calls 


367 

Any  mention  of  her  “  works  ”  always  had  a  bad  effect 
upon  Jo,  who  either  grew  rigid  and  looked  offended,  or 
changed  the  subject  with  a  brusque  remark,  as  now. 
“  Sorry  you  could  find  nothing  better  to  read.  I  write 
that  rubbish  because  it  sells,  and  ordinary  people  like  it. 
Are  you  going  to  New  York  this  winter?  ” 

As  Miss  Lamb  had  “  enjoyed  ”  the  story,  this  speech 
was  not  exactly  grateful  or  complimentary.  The  minute 
it  was  made  Jo  saw  her  mistake;  but,  fearing  to  make 
the  matter  worse,  suddenly  remembered  that  it  was  for 
her  to  make  the  first  move  toward  departure,  and  did 
so  with  an  abruptness  that  left  three  people  with  half- 
finished  sentences  in  their  mouths. 

“  Amy,  we  must  go.  Good-by ,  dear  ;  do  come  and  see 
us ;  we  are  pining  for  a  visit.  I  don’t  dare  to  ask  you , 
Mr.  Lamb ;  but  if  you  shoirid  come,  I  don’t  think  I 
shall  have  the  heart  to  send  you  away.” 

Jo  said  this  with  such  a  droll  imitation  of  May  Ches¬ 
ter’s  gushing  style  that  Amy  got  out  of  the  room  as 
rapidly  as  possible,  feeling  a  strong  desire  to  laugh  and 
cry  at  the  same  time. 

“  Did  n’t  I  do  that  well?”  asked  Jo,  with  a  satisfied 
air,  as  they  walked  away. 

“  Nothing  could  have  been  worse,”  was  Amy’s  crush¬ 
ing  reply.  “  What  possessed  you  to  tell  those  stories 
about  my  saddle,  and  the  hats  and  boots,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it?  ” 

“Why,  it’s  funny,  and  amuses  people.  They  know 
we  are  poor,  so  it ’s  no  use  pretending  that  we  have 
grooms,  buy  three  or  four  hats  a  season,  and  have  things 
as  easy  and  fine  as  they  do.” 

“  You  need  n’t  go  and  tell  them  all  our  little  shifts, 
and  expose  our  poverty  in  that  perfectly  unnecessary 
way.  You  have  n’t  a  bit  of  proper  pride,  and  never  will 


Little  Women 


368 

learn  when  to  hold  your  tongue  and  when  to  speak,” 
said  Amy  despairingly. 

Poor  Jo  looked  abashed,  and  silently  chafed  the  end 
of  her  nose  with  the  stiff  handkerchief,  as  if  performing 
a  penance  for  her  misdemeanors. 

“  How  shall  I  behave  here?”  she  asked,  as  they 
approached  the  third  mansion. 

“  Just  as  you  please;  I  wash  my  hands  of  you,”  was 
Amy’s  short  answer. 

“  Then  I  ’ll  enjoy  myself.  The  boys  are  at  home,  and 
we  ’ll  have  a  comfortable  time.  Goodness  knows  I  need 
a  little  change,  for  elegance  has  a  bad  effect  upon  my 
constitution,”  returned  Jo  gruffly,  being  disturbed  by 
her  failures  to  suit. 

An  enthusiastic  welcome  from  three  big  boys  and 
several  pretty  children  speedily  soothed  her  ruffled 
feelings ;  and,  leaving  Amy  to  entertain  the  hostess  and 
Mr.  Tudor,  who  happened  to  be  calling  likewise,  Jo 
devoted  herself  to  the  young  folks,  and  found  the  change 
refreshing.  She  listened  to  college  stories  with  deep 
interest,  caressed  pointers  and  poodles  without  a  mur¬ 
mur,  agreed  heartily  that  “  Tom  Brown  was  a  brick,” 
regardless  of  the  improper  form  of  praise ;  and  when 
one  lad  proposed  a  visit  to  his  turtle-tank,  she  went  with 
an  alacrity  which  caused  mamma  to  smile  upon  her,  as 
that  motherly  lady  settled  the  cap  which  was  left  in  a 
ruinous  condition  by  filial  hugs,  bearlike  but  affectionate, 
and  dearer  to  her  than  the  most  faultless  coiffure  from 
the  hands  of  an  inspired  Frenchwoman. 

Leaving  her  sister  to  her  own  devices,  Amy  proceeded 
to  enjoy  herself  to  her  heart’s  content.  Mr.  Tudor’s 
uncle  had  married  an  English  lady  who  was  third  cousin 
to  a  living  lord,  and  Amy  regarded  the  whole  family 
with  great  respect;  for,  in  spite  of  her  American  birth 


Calls 


369 

and  breeding,  she  possessed  that  reverence  for  titles 
which  haunts  the  best  of  us,  —  that  unacknowledged 
loyalty  to  the  early  faith  in  kings  which  set  the  most' 
democratic  nation  under  the  sun  in  a  ferment  at  the 
coming  of  a  royal  yellow-haired  laddie,  some  years  ago, 
and  which  still  has  something  to  do  with  the  love  the 
young  country  bears  the  old,  like  that  of  a  big  son  for 
an  imperious  little  mother,  who  held  him  while  she 
could,  and  let  him  go  with  a  farewell  scolding  when  he 
rebelled.  But  even  the  satisfaction  of  talking  with  a 
distant  connection  of  the  British  nobility  did  not  render 
Amy  forgetful  of  time  ;  and  when  the  proper  number  of 
minutes  had  passed,  she  reluctantly  tore  herself  from 
this  aristocratic  society,  and  looked  about  for  Jo,  fer¬ 
vently  hoping  that  her  incorrigible  sister  would  not  be 
found  in  any  position  which  should  bring  disgrace  upon 
the  name  of  March. 

It  might  have  been  worse,  but  Amy  considered  it  bad  ; 
for  Jo  sat  on  the  grass,  with  an  encampment  of  boys 
about  her,  and  a  dirty-footed  dog  reposing  on  the  skirt 
of  her  state  and  festival  dress,  as  she  related  one  of 
Laurie’s  pranks  to  her  admiring  audience.  One  small 
child  was  poking  turtles  with  Amy’s  cherished  parasol, 
a  second  was  eating  gingerbread  over  Jo’s  best  bonnet, 
and  a  third  playing  ball  with  her  gloves.  But  all  were 
enjoying  themselves;  and  when  Jo  collected  her  dam¬ 
aged  property  to  go,  her  escort  accompanied  her,  beg¬ 
ging  her  to  come  again,  “  it  was  such  fun  to  hear  about 
Laurie’s  larks.” 

“  Capital  boys,  are  n’t  they?  I  feel  quite  young  and 
brisk  again  after  that,”  said  Jo,  strolling  along  with  her 
hands  behind  her,  partly  from  habit,  partly  to  conceal 
the  bespattered  parasol. 

‘‘Why  do  you  always  avoid  Mr.  Tudor?  ”  asked  Amy, 

24 


Little  Women 


37° 

wisely  refraining  from  any  comment  upon  Jo’s  dilapi¬ 
dated  appearance. 

“  Don’t  like  him ;  he  puts  on  airs,  snubs  his  sisters, 
worries  his  father,  and  does  n’t  speak  respectfully  of 
his  mother.  Laurie  says  he  is  fast,  and  I  don’t  con¬ 
sider  him  a  desirable  acquaintance ;  so  I  let  him 
alone.” 

“You  might  treat  him  civilly,  at  least.  You  gave 
him  a  cool  nod;  and  just  now  you  bowed  and  smiled 
in  the  politest  way  to  Tommy  Chamberlain,  whose  father 
keeps  a  grocery  store.  If  you  had  just  reversed  the 
nod  and  the  bow,  it  would  have  been  right,”  said  Amy 
reprovingly. 

“No,  it  would  n’t,”  returned  perverse  Jo;  “I  neither 
like,  respect,  nor  admire  Tudor,  though  his  grandfather’s 
uncle’s  nephew’s  niece  was  third  cousin  to  a  lord. 
Tommy  is  poor  and  bashful  and  good  and  very  clever; 
I  think  well  of  him,  and  like  to  show  that  I  do,  for  he  is 
a  gentleman  in  spite  of  the  brown-paper  parcels.” 

“  It ’s  no  use  trying  to  argue  with  you,”  began  Amy. 

“Not  the  least,  my  dear,”  interrupted  Jo;  “so  let  us 
look  amiable,  and  drop  a  card  here,  as  the  Kings  are 
evidently  out,  for  which  I ’m  deeply  grateful.” 

The  family  card-case  having  done  its  duty,  the  girls 
walked  on,  and  Jo  uttered  another  thanksgiving  on 
reaching  the  fifth  house,  and  being  told  that  the  young 
ladies  were  engaged. 

“  Now  let  us  go  home,  and  never  mind  Aunt  March 
to-day.  We  can  run  down  there  any  time,  and  it’s 
really  a  pity  to  trail  through  the  dust  in  our  best  bibs 
and  tuckers,  when  we  are  tired  and  cross.” 

“  Speak  for  yourself,  if  you  please.  Aunt  likes  to 
have  us  pay  her  the  compliment  of  coming  in  style,  and 
making  a  formal  call;  it’s  a  little  thing  to  do,  but  it 


Calls 


37  1 

gives  her  pleasure,  and  I  don’t  believe  it  will  hurt  your 
things  half  so  much  as  letting  dirty  dogs  and  clumping 
boys  spoil  them.  Stoop  down,  and  let  me  take  the 
crumbs  off  of  your  bonnet.” 

“What  a  good  girl  you  are,  Amy!”  said  Jo,  with  a 
repentant  glance  from  her  own  damaged  costume  to 
that  of  her  sister,  which  was  fresh  and  spotless  still.  “I 
wish  it  was  as  easy  for  me  to  do  little  things  to  please 
people  as  it  is  for  you.  I  think  of  them,  but  it  takes  too 
much  time  to  do  them;  so  I  wait  for  a  chance  to  confer 
a  great  favor,  and  let  the  small  ones  slip ;  but  they  tell 
best  in  the  end,  I  fancy.” 

Amy  smiled,  and  was  mollified  at  once,  saying  with  a 
maternal  air,  — 

“  Women  should  learn  to  be  agreeable,  particularly 
poor  ones ;  for  they  have  no  other  way  of  repaying  the 
kindnesses  they  receive.  If  you ’d  remember  that,  and 
practise  it,  you ’d  be  better  liked  than  I  am,  because 
there  is  more  of  you.” 

“  I ’m  a  crotchety  old  thing,  and  always  shall  be,  but 
I’m  willing  to  own  that  you  are  right;  only  it’s  easier 
for  me  to  risk  my  life  for  a  person  than  to  be  pleasant 
to  him  when  I  don’t  feel  like  it.  It ’s  a  great  misfortune 
to  have  such  strong  likes  and  dislikes,  is  n’t  it?” 

“  It ’s  a  greater  not  to  be  able  to  hide  them.  I  don’t 
mind  saying  that  I  don’t  approve  of  Tudor  any  more 
than  you  do ;  but  I ’m  not  called  upon  to  tell  him  so ; 
neither  are  you,  and  there  is  no  use  in  making  yourself 
disagreeable  because  he  is.” 

“  But  I  think  girls  ought  to  show  when  they  disap¬ 
prove  of  young  men  ;  and  how  can  they  do  it  except  by 
their  manners?  Preaching  does  not  do  any  good,  as  I 
know  to  my  sorrow,  since  I ’ve  had  Teddy  to  manage ; 
but  there  are  many  little  ways  in  which  I  can  influence 


Little  Women 


37  2 

him  without  a  word,  and  I  say  we  ought  to  do  it  to 
others  if  we  can.” 

“Teddy  is  a  remarkable  boy,  and  can’t  be  taken  as  a 
sample  of  other  boys,”  said  Amy,  in  a  tone  of  solemn 
conviction,  which  would  have  convulsed  the  “  remarkable 
boy,”  if  he  had  heard  it.  “  If  we  were  belles,  or  women 
of  wealth  and  position,  we  might  do  something,  perhaps ; 
but  for  us  to  frown  at  one  set  of  young  gentlemen 
because  we  don’t  approve  of  them,  and  smile  upon 
another  set  because  we  do,  would  n’t  have  a  particle  of 
effect,  and  we  should  only  be  considered  odd  and 
puritanical.” 

“  So  we  are  to  countenance  things  and  people  which 
we  detest,  merely  because  we  are  not  belles  and  mil¬ 
lionaires,  are  we?  That  ’s  a  nice  sort  of  morality.” 

“  I  can’t  argue  about  it,  I  only  know  that  it’s  the  way 
of  the  world ;  and  people  who  set  themselves  against  it 
only  get  laughed  at  for  their  pains.  I  don’t  like  re¬ 
formers,  and  I  hope  you  will  never  try  to  be  one.” 

“  I  do  like  them,  and  I  shall  be  one  if  I  can ;  for,  in 
spite  of  the  laughing,  the  world  would  never  get  on 
without  them.  We  can’t  agree  about  that,  for  you 
belong  to  the  old  set,  and  I  to  the  new :  you  will  get 
on  the  best,  but  I  shall  have  the  liveliest  time  of  it.  I 
should  rather  enjoy  the  brickbats  and  hooting,  I  think.” 

“  Well,  compose  yourself  now,  and  don’t  worry  aunt 
with  your  new  ideas.” 

“  I  ’ll  try  not  to,  but  I  ’m  always  possessed  to  burst 
out  with  some  particularly  blunt  speech  or  revolutionary 
sentiment  before  her ;  it ’s  my  doom,  and  I  can’t  help  it.” 

They  found  Aunt  Carrol  with  the  old  lady,  both 
absorbed  in  some  very  interesting  subject;  but  they 
dropped  it  as  the  girls  came  in,  with  a  conscious  look 
which  betrayed  that  they  had  been  talking  about  their 


Calls 


373 

nieces.  Jo  was  not  in  a  good  humor,  and  the  perverse 
fit  returned ;  but  Amy,  who  had  virtuously  done  her 
duty,  kept  her  temper,  and  pleased  everybody,  was 
in  a  most  angelic  frame  of  mind.  This  amiable  spirit 
was  felt  at  once,  and  both  the  aunts  “  my  deared  ” 
her  affectionately,  looking  what  they  afterwards  said 
emphatically,  —  “That  child  improves  every  day.” 

“  Are  you  going  to  help  about  the  fair,  dear?  ”  asked 
Mrs.  Carrol,  as  Amy  sat  down  beside  her  with  the  con¬ 
fiding  air  elderly  people  like  so  well  in  the  young. 

“Yes,  aunt.  Mrs.  Chester  asked  me  if  I  would,  and  I 
offered  to  tend  a  table,  as  I  have  nothing  but  my  time 
to  give.” 

“I’m  not,”  put  in  Jo  decidedly.  “I  hate  to  be 
patronized,  and  the  Chesters  think  it ’s  a  great  favor 
to  allow  us  to  help  with  their  highly  connected  fair.  I 
wonder  you  consented,  Amy :  they  only  want  you  to 
work.” 

“  I  am  willing  to  work:  it’s  for  the  freedmen  as  well 
as  the  Chesters,  and  I  think  it  very  kind  of  them  to  let 
me  share  the  labor  and  the  fun.  Patronage  does  not 
trouble  me  when  it  is  well  meant.” 

“  Quite  right  and  proper.  I  like  your  grateful  spirit, 
my  dear;  it’s  a  pleasure  to  help  people  who  appreciate 
our  efforts:  some  do  not,  and  that  is  trying,”  observed 
Aunt  March,  looking  over  her  spectacles  at  Jo,  who 
sat  apart,  rocking  herself,  with  a  somewhat  morose 
expression. 

If  Jo  had  only  known  what  a  great  happiness  was 
wavering  in  the  balance  for  one  of  them,  she  would  have 
turned  dovelike  in  a  minute ;  but,  unfortunately,  we 
don’t  have  windows  in  our  breasts,  and  cannot  see  what 
goes  on  in  the  minds  of  our  friends ;  better  for  us  that 
we  cannot  as  a  general  thing,  but  now  and  then  it  would 


Little  Women 


374 

be  such  a  comfort,  such  a  saving  of  time  and  temper. 
By  her  next  speech,  Jo  deprived  herself  of  several  years 
of  pleasure,  and  received  a  timely  lesson  in  the  art  of 
holding  her  tongue. 

“  I  don’t  like  favors ;  they  oppress  and  make  me  feel 
like  a  slave.  I ’d  rather  do  everything  for  myself,  and 
be  perfectly  independent.” 

“Ahem!”  coughed  Aunt  Carrol  softly,  with  a  look 
at  Aunt  March. 

“  I  told  you  so,”  said  Aunt  March,  with  a  decided  nod 
to  Aunt  Carrol. 

Mercifully  unconscious  of  what  she  had  done,  Jo  sat 
with  her  nose  in  the  air,  and  a  revolutionary  aspect 
which  was  anything  but  inviting. 

“Do  you  speak  French,  dear?”  asked  Mrs.  Carrol, 
laying  her  hand  on  Amy’s. 

“  Pretty  well,  thanks  to  Aunt  March,  who  lets  Esther 
talk  to  me  as  often  as  I  like,”  replied  Amy,  with  a  grate¬ 
ful  look,  which  caused  the  old  lady  to  smile  affably. 

“  How  are  you  about  languages?”  asked  Mrs.  Carrol 
of  Jo. 

“  Don’t  know  a  word ;  I ’m  very  stupid  about  study¬ 
ing  anything;  can’t  bear  French,  it’s  such  a  slippery, 
silly  sort  of  language,”  was  the  brusque  reply. 

Another  look  passed  between  the  ladies,  and  Aunt 
March  said  to  Amy,  “  You  are  quite  strong  and  well, 
now,  dear,  I  believe?  Eyes  don’t  trouble  you  any 
more,  do  they?” 

“  Not  at  all,  thank  you,  ma’am.  I ’m  very  well,  and 
mean  to  do  great  things  next  winter,  so  that  I  may  be 
ready  for  Rome,  whenever  that  joyful  time  arrives.” 

“  Good  girl !  You  deserve  to  go,  and  I ’m  sure  you 
will  some  day,”  said  Aunt  March,  with  an  approving  pat 
on  the  head,  as  Amy  picked  up  her  ball  for  her. 


375 


Consequences 

“  Cross-patch,  draw  the  latch, 

Sit  by  the  fire  and  spin,” 

squalled  Polly,  bending  down  from  his  perch  on  the 
back  of  her  chair  to  peep  into  Jo’s  face,  with  such  a 
comical  air  of  impertinent  inquiry  that  it  was  impossible 
to  help  laughing. 

“  Most  observing  bird,”  said  the  old  l,ady. 

“  Come  and  take  a  walk,  my  dear?  ”  cried  Polly,  hop¬ 
ping  toward  the  china-closet,  with  a  look  suggestive  of 
lump-sugar. 

“Thank  you,  I  will.  Come,  Amy;  ”  and  Jo  brought 
the  visit  to  an  end,  feeling  more  strongly  than  ever  that 
calls  did  have  a  bad  effect  upon  her  constitution.  She 
shook  hands  in  a  gentlemanly  manner,  but  Amy  kissed 
both  the  aunts,  and  the  girls  departed,  leaving  behind 
them  the  impression  of  shadow  and  sunshine ;  which 
impression  caused  Aunt  March  to  say,  as  they  van¬ 
ished,  — 

“You’d  better  do  it,  Mary;  I’ll  supply  the  money,” 
and  Aunt  Carrol  to  reply  decidedly,  “  I  certainly  will,  if 
her  father  and  mother  consent.” 


CHAPTER  XXX 


CONSEQUENCES 


MRS.  CHESTER’S  fair  was  so  very  elegant 
and  select  that  it  was  considered  a  great 
honor  by  the  young  ladies  of  the  neighbor¬ 
hood  to  be  invited  to  take  a  table,  and  every  one  was 
much  interested  in  the  matter.  Amy  was  asked,  but  Jo 
was  not,  which  was  fortunate  for  all  parties,  as  her 


Little  Women 


376 

elbows  were  decidedly  akimbo  at  this  period  of  her  life, 
and  it  took  a  good  many  hard  knocks  to  teach  her  how 
to  get  on  easily.  The  “  haughty,  uninteresting  creature” 
was  let  severely  alone ;  but  Amy’s  talent  and  taste  were 
duly  complimented  by  the  offer  of  the  art-table,  and  she 
exerted  herself  to  prepare  and  secure  appropriate  and 
valuable  contributions  to  it. 

Everything  went  on  smoothly  till  the  day  before  the 
fair  opened ;  then  there  occurred  one  of  the  little  skir¬ 
mishes  which  it  is  almost  impossible  to  avoid,  when 
some  five  and  twenty  women,  old  and  young,  with 
all  their  private  piques  and  prejudices,  try  to  work 
together. 

May  Chester  was  rather  jealous  of  Amy  because  the 
latter  was  a  greater  favorite  than  herself:  and,  just  at 
this  time,  several  trifling  circumstances  occurred  to 
increase  the  feeling.  Amy’s  dainty  pen-and-ink  work 
entirely  eclipsed  May’s  painted  vases,  —  that  was  one 
thorn;  then  the  all-conquering  Tudor  had  danced  four 
times  with  Amy,  at  a  late  party,  and  only  once  with 
May,  —  that  was  thorn  number  two  ;  but  the  chief  griev¬ 
ance  that  rankled  in  her  soul,  and  gave  her  an  excuse 
for  her  unfriendly  conduct,  was  a  rumor  which  some 
obliging  gossip  had  whispered  to  her,  that  the  March 
girls  had  made  fun  of  her  at  the  Lambs’.  All  the  blame 
of  this  should  have  fallen  upon  Jo,  for  her  naughty  imita¬ 
tion  had  been  too  lifelike  to  escape  detection,  and  the 
frolicsome  Lambs  had  permitted  the  joke  to  escape. 
No  hint  of  this  had  reached  the  culprits,  however,  and 
Amy’s  dismay  can  be  imagined,  when,  the  very  evening 
before  the  fair,  as  she  was  putting  the  last  touches  to 
her  pretty  table,  Mrs.  Chester,  who,  of  course,  resented 
the  supposed  ridicule  of  her  daughter,  said,  in  a  bland 
tone,  but  with  a  cold  look,  — 


Consequences  377 

“  I  find,  dear,  that  there  is  some  feeling  among  the 
young  ladies  about  my  giving  this  table  to  any  one  but 
my  girls.  As  this  is  the  most  prominent,  and  some  say 
the  most  attractive  table  of  all,  and  they  are  the  chief 
getters-up  of  the  fair,  it  is  thought  best  for  them  to 
take  this  place.  I  ’m  sorry,  but  I  know  you  are  too  sin¬ 
cerely  interested  in  the  cause  to  mind  a  little  personal 
disappointment,  and  you  shall  have  another  table  if  you 
like.” 

Mrs.  Chester  had  fancied  beforehand  that  it  would  be 
easy  to  deliver  this  little  speech;  but  when  the  time 
came,  she  found  it  rather  difficult  to  utter  it  naturally, 
with  Amy’s  unsuspicious  eyes  looking  straight  at  her, 
full  of  surprise  and  trouble. 

Amy  felt  that  there  was  something  behind  this,  but 
could  not  guess  what,  and  said  quietly,  feeling  hurt,  and 
showing  that  she  did,  — 

“  Perhaps  you  had  rather  I  took  no  table  at  all?  ” 

“Now,  my  dear,  don’t  have  any  ill  feeling,  I  beg;  it’s 
merely  a  matter  of  expediency,  you  see  ;  my  girls  will 
naturally  take  the  lead,  and  this  table  is  considered  their 
proper  place.  I  think  it  very  appropriate  to  you,  and  feel 
very  grateful  for  your  efforts  to  make  it  so  pretty ;  but 
we  must  give  up  our  private  wishes,  of  course,  and  I  will 
see  that  you  have  a  good  place  elsewhere.  Would  n’t 
you  like  the  flower-table?  The  little  girls  undertook  it, 
but  they  are  discouraged.  You  could  make  a  charming 
thing  of  it,  and  the  flower-table  is  always  attractive,  you 
know.” 

“  Especially  to  gentlemen,”  added  May,  with  a  look 
which  enlightened  Amy  as  to  one  cause  of  her  sudden 
fall  from  favor.  She  colored  angrily,  but  took  no  other 
notice  of  that  girlish  sarcasm,  and  answered,  with  unex« 
pected  amiability,  — 


Little  Women 


378 

“  It  shall  be  as  you  please,  Mrs.  Chester.  I  ’ll  give 
up  my  place  here  at  once,  and  attend  to  the  flowers,  if 
you  like.” 

“  You  can  put  your  own  things  on  your  own  table,  if 
you  prefer,”  began  May,  feeling  a  little  conscience- 
stricken,  as  she  looked  at  the  pretty  racks,  the  painted 
shells,  and  quaint  illuminations  Amy  had  so  carefully 
made  and  so  gracefully  arranged.  She  meant  it  kindly, 
but  Amy  mistook  her  meaning,  and  said  quickly, — 

“  Oh,  certainly,  if  they  are  in  your  way;  ”  and  sweep¬ 
ing  her  contributions  into  her  apron,  pell-mell,  she 
walked  off,  feeling  that  herself  and  her  works  of  art  had 
been  insulted  past  forgiveness. 

“  Now  she ’s  mad.  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  I  had  n’t  asked 
you  to  speak,  mamma,”  said  May,  looking  disconsolately 
at  the  empty  spaces  on  her  table. 

“  Girls’  quarrels  are  soon  over,”  returned  her  mother, 
feeling  a  trifle  ashamed  of  her  own  part  in  this  one,  as 
well  she  might. 

The  little  girls  hailed  Amy  and  her  treasures  with 
delight,  which  cordial  reception  somewhat  soothed  her 
perturbed  spirit,  and  she  fell  to  work,  determined  to 
succeed  florally,  if  she  could  not  artistically.  But  every¬ 
thing  seemed  against  her:  it  was  late,  and  she  was  tired  ; 
every  one  was  too  busy  with  their  own  affairs  to  help 
her;  and  the  little  girls  were  only  hindrances,  for  the 
dears  fussed  and  chattered  like  so  many  magpies,  mak¬ 
ing  a  great  deal  of  confusion  in  their  artless  efforts  to 
preserve  the  most  perfect  order.  The  evergreen  arch 
would  n’t  stay  firm  after  she  got  it  up,  but  wiggled  and 
threatened  to  tumble  down  on  her  head  when  the  hang¬ 
ing  baskets  were  filled  ;  her  best  tile  got  a  splash  of 
water,  which  left  a  sepia  tear  on  the  Cupid’s  cheek ; 
6he  bruised  her  hands  with  hammering,  and  got  cold 


Consequences  379 

working  in  a  draught,  which  last  affliction  filled  her  with 
apprehensions  for  the  morrow.  Any  girl-reader  who 
has  suffered  like  afflictions  will  sympathize  with  poor 
Amy,  and  wish  her  well  through  with  her  task. 

There  was  great  indignation  at  home  when  she  told 
her  story  that  evening.  Her  mother  said  it  was  a 
shame,  but  told  her  she  had  done  right ;  Beth  declared 
she  wouldn’t  go  to  the  fair  at  all;  and  Jo  demanded 
why  she  did  n’t  take  all  her  pretty  things  and  leave 
those  mean  people  to  get  on  without  her. 

“  Because  they  are  mean  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
be.  I  hate  such  things,  and  though  I  think  I  Ve  a  right 
to  be  hurt,  I  don’t  intend  to  show  it.  They  will  feel  that 
more  than  angry  speeches  or  huffy  actions,  won’t  they, 
Marmee?  ” 

“  That’s  the  right  spirit,  my  dear;  a  kiss  for  a  blow 
is  always  best,  though  it ’s  not  very  easy  to  give  it  some¬ 
times,”  said  her  mother,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had 
learned  the  difference  between  preaching  and  practising. 

In  spite  of  various  very  natural  temptations  to  resent 
and  retaliate,  Amy  adhered  to  her  resolution  all  the 
next  day,  bent  on  conquering  her  enemy  by  kindness. 
She  began  well,  thanks  to  a  silent  reminder  that  came 
to  her  unexpectedly,  but  most  opportunely.  As  she 
arranged  her  table  that  morning,  while  the  little  girls 
were  in  an  ante-room  filling  the  baskets,  she  took  up 
her  pet  production,  —  a  little  book,  the  antique  cover 
of  which  her  father  had  found  among  his  treasures,  and 
in  which,  on  leaves  of  vellum,  she  had  beautifully  illumi¬ 
nated  different  texts.  As  she  turned  the  pages,  rich  in 
dainty  devices,  with  very  pardonable  pride,  her  eye  fell 
upon  one  verse  that  made  her  stop  and  think.  Framed 
in  a  brilliant  scroll-work  of  scarlet,  blue,  and  gold,  with 
little  spirits  of  good-will  helping  one  another  up  and 


Little  Women 


38° 

down  among  the  thorns  and  flowers,  were  the  words, 
“  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself.” 

“  I  ought,  but  I  don’t,”  thought  Amy,  as  her  eye 
went  from  the  bright  page  to  May’s  discontented  face 
behind  the  big  vases,  that  could  not  hide  the  vacancies 
her  pretty  work  had  once  filled.  Amy  stood  a  minute, 
turning  the  leaves  in  her  hand,  reading  on  each  some 
sweet  rebuke  for  all  heart-burnings  and  uncharitableness 
of  spirit.  Many  wise  and  true  sermons  are  preached  us 
every  day  by  unconscious  ministers  in  street,  school, 
office,  or  home ;  even  a  fair-table  may  become  a  pulpit, 
if  it  can  offer  the  good  and  helpful  words  which  are 
never  out  of  season.  Amy’s  conscience  preached  her  a 
little  sermon  from  that  text,  then  and  there ;  and  she  did 
what  many  of  us  do  not  always  do,  — took  the  sermon 
to  heart,  and  straightway  put  it  in  practice. 

A  group  of  girls  were  standing  about  May’s  table, 
admiring  the  pretty  things,  and  talking  over  the  change 
of  saleswomen.  They  dropped  their  voices,  but  Amy 
knew  they  were  speaking  of  her,  hearing  one  side  of  the 
story,  and  judging  accordingly.  It  was  not  pleasant, 
but  a  better  spirit  had  come  over  her,  and  presently  a 
chance  offered  for  proving  it.  She  heard  May  say  sor¬ 
rowfully,  — 

“  It ’s  too  bad,  for  there  is  no  time  to  make  other 
things,  and  I  don’t  want  to  fill  up  with  odds  and  ends. 
The  table  was  just  complete  then :  now  it ’s  spoilt.” 

“  I  dare  say  she ’d  put  them  back  if  you  asked  her,” 
suggested  some  one. 

“How  could  I  after  all  the  fuss?”  began  May,  but 
she  did  not  finish,  for  Amy’s  voice  came  across  the  hall, 
saying  pleasantly, — 

“  You  may  have  them,  and  welcome,  without  asking, 
if  you  want  them.  I  was  just  thinking  I ’d  offer  to  put 


Consequences  381 

them  back,  for  they  belong  to  your  table  rather  than 
mine.  Here  they  are;  please  take  them,  and  forgive 
me  if  I  was  hasty  in  carrying  them  away  last  night.” 

As  she  spoke,  Amy  returned  her  contribution,  with  a 
nod  and  a  smile,  and  hurried  away  again,  feeling  that  it 
was  easier  to  do  a  friendly  thing  than  it  was  to  stay  and 
be  thanked  for  it. 

“  Now,  I  call  that  lovely  of  her,  don’t  you  ?  ”  cried  one 

girl- 

May’s  answer  was  inaudible  ;  but  another  young  lady, 
whose  temper  was  evidently  a  little  soured  by  making 
lemonade,  added,  with  a  disagreeable  laugh,  “  Very 
lovely;  for  she  knew  she  would  n’t  sell  them  at  her  own 
table.” 

Now,  that  was  hard  ;  when  we  make  little  sacrifices 
we  like  to  have  them  appreciated,  at  least;  and  for  a 
minute  Amy  was  sorry  she  had  done  it,  feeling  that  vir¬ 
tue  was  not  always  its  own  reward.  But  it  is,  —  as  she 
presently  discovered ;  for  her  spirits  began  to  rise,  and 
her  table  to  blossom  under  her  skilful  hands;  the  girls 
were  very  kind,  and  that  one  little  act  seemed  to  have 
cleared  the  atmosphere  amazingly. 

It  was  a  very  long  day,  and  a  hard  one  to  Amy,  as 
she  sat  behind  her  table,  often  quite  alone,  for  the  little 
girls  deserted  very  soon :  few  cared  to  buy  flowers  in 
summer,  and  her  bouquets  began  to  droop  long  before 
night. 

The  art-table  was  the  most  attractive  in  the  room ; 
there  was  a  crowd  about  it  all  day  long,  and  the  tenders 
were  constantly  flying  to  and  fro  with  important  faces 
and  rattling  money-boxes.  Amy  often  looked  wistfully 
across,  longing  to  be  there,  where  she  felt  at  home  and 
happy,  instead  of  in  a  corner  with  nothing  to  do.  It 
might  seem  no  hardship  to  some  of  us;  but  to  a  pretty, 


Little  Women 


382 

blithe  young  girl,  it  was  not  only  tedious,  but  very  try* 
ing;  and  the  thought  of  being  found  there  in  the  even¬ 
ing  by  her  family,  and  Laurie  and  his  friends,  made  it  a 
real  martyrdom. 

She  did  not  go  home  till  night,  and  then  she  looked 
so  pale  and  quiet  that  they  knew  the  day  had  been  a 
hard  one,  though  she  made  no  complaint,  and  did  not 
even  tell  what  she  had  done.  Her  mother  gave  her  an 
extra  cordial  cup  of  tea,  Beth  helped  her  dress,  and 
made  a  charming  little  wreath  for  her  hair,  while  Jo  as¬ 
tonished  her  family  by  getting  herself  up  with  unusual 
care,  and  hinting  darkly  that  the  tables  were  about  to 
be  turned. 

“  Don’t  do  anything  rude,  pray,  Jo.  I  won’t  have  any 
fuss  made,  so  let  it  all  pass,  and  behave  yourself,” 
begged  Amy,  as  she  departed  early,  hoping  to  find 
a  reinforcement  of  flowers  to  refresh  her  poor  little 
table. 

“  I  merely  intend  to  make  myself  entrancingly  agree¬ 
able  to  every  one  I  know,  and  to  keep  them  in  your 
corner  as  long  as  possible.  Teddy  and  his  boys  will 
lend  a  hand,  and  we  ’ll  have  a  good  time  yet,”  returned 
Jo,  leaning  over  the  gate  to  watch  for  Laurie.  Pres¬ 
ently  the  familiar  tramp  was  heard  in  the  dusk,  and  she 
ran  out  to  meet  him. 

“  Is  that  my  boy?  ” 

“  As  sure  as  this  is  my  girl !  ”  and  Laurie  tucked  her 
hand  under  his  arm,  with  the  air  of  a  man  whose  every 
wish  was  gratified. 

“  O  Teddy,  such  doings  !  ”  and  Jo  told  Amy’s  wrongs 
with  sisterly  zeal. 

“  A  flock  of  our  fellows  are  going  to  drive  over  by 
and  by,  and  I  ’ll  be  hanged  if  I  don’t  make  them  buy 
every  flower  she ’s  got,  and  camp  down  before  her  table 


Consequences  383 

afterward,”  said  Laurie,  espousing  her  cause  with 
warmth. 

“  The  flowers  are  not  at  all  nice,  Amy  says,  and  the 
fresh  ones  may  not  arrive  in  time.  I  don’t  wish  to  be 
unjust  or  suspicious,  but  I  should  n’t  wonder  if  they 
never  came  at  all.  When  people  do  one  mean  thing 
they  are  very  likely  to  do  another,”  observed  Jo,  in  a 
disgusted  tone. 

“  Did  n’t  Iflayes  give  you  the  best  out  of  our  gardens? 
I  told  him  to.” 

“  I  did  n’t  know  that;  he  forgot,  I  suppose;  and,  as 
your  grandpa  was  poorly,  I  did  n’t  like  to  worry  him 
by  asking,  though  I  did  want  some.” 

“  Now,  Jo,  how  could  you  think  there  was  any  need  of 
asking  !  They  are  just  as  much  yours  as  mine.  Don’t 
we  always  go  halves  in  everything?  ”  began  Laurie,  in 
the  tone  that  always  made  Jo  turn  thorny. 

“  Gracious,  I  hope  not !  half  of  some  of  your  things 
would  n’t  suit  me  at  all.  But  we  must  n’t  stand  philan¬ 
dering  here ;  I ’ve  got  to  help  Amy,  so  you  go  and 
make  yourself  splendid ;  and  if  you  ’ll  be  so  very  kind 
as  to  let  Hayes  take  a  few  nice  flowers  up  to  the  Hall, 
I  ’ll  bless  you  forever.” 

“  Could  n’t  you  do  it  now?  ”  asked  Laurie,  so  sugges¬ 
tively  that  Jo  shut  the  gate  in  his  face  with  inhospitable 
haste,  and  called  through  the  bars,  “  Go  away,  Teddy; 
I ’m  busy.” 

Thanks  to  the  conspirators,  the  tables  were  turned  that 
night;  for  Hayes  sent  up  a  wilderness  of  flowers,  with  a 
lovely  basket,  arranged  in  his  best  manner,  for  a  centre¬ 
piece  ;  then  the  March  family  turned  out  en  masse ,  and 
Jo  exerted  herself  to  some  purpose,  for  people  not  only 
came,  but  stayed,  laughing  at  her  nonsense,  admiring 
Amy’s  taste,  and  apparently  enjoying  themselves  very 


1 


Little  Women 


38  + 

much.  Laurie  and  his  friends  gallantly  threw  themselves 
into  the  breach,  bought  up  the  bouquets,  encamped 
before  the  table,  and  made  that  corner  the  liveliest  spot 
in  the  room.  Amy  was  in  her  element  now,  and,  out  of 
gratitude,  if  nothing  more,  was  as  sprightly  and  gracious 
as  possible, —  coming  to  the  conclusion,  about  that  time, 
that  virtue  was  its  own  reward,  after  all. 

Jo  behaved  herself  with  exemplary  propriety;  and 
when  Amy  was  happily  surrounded  by  her  guard  of 
honor,  Jo  circulated  about  the  hall,  picking  up  various 
bits  of  gossip,  which  enlightened  her  upon  the  subject  o[ 
the  Chester  change  of  base.  She  reproached  herself  for 
her  share  of  the  ill-feeling,  and  resolved  to  exonerate 
Amy  as  soon  as  possible  ;  she  also  discovered  what  Amy 
had  done  about  the  things  in  the  morning,  and  con¬ 
sidered  her  a  model  of  magnanimity.  As  she  passed 
the  art-table,  she  glanced  over  it  for  her  sister’s  things, 
but  saw  no  signs  of  them.  “  Tucked  away  out  of  sight, 
I  dare  say,”  thought  Jo,  who  could  forgive  her  own 
wrongs,  but  hotly  resented  any  insult  offered  to  her 
family. 

“  Good  evening,  Miss  Jo.  How  does  Amy  get  on?” 
asked  May,  with  a  conciliatory  air,  for  she  wanted  to  show 
that  she  also  could  be  generous. 

“  She  has  sold  everything  she  had  that  was  worth 
selling,  and  now  she  is  enjoying  herself.  The  flower- 
table  is  always  attractive,  you  know,  ‘  especially  to 
gentlemen.’  ” 

Jo  couldn't  resist  giving  that  little  slap,  but  May  took 
it  so  meekly  she  regretted  it  a  minute  after,  and  fell  to 
praising  the  great  vases,  which  still  remained  unsold. 

“  Is  Amy’s  illumination  anywhere  about?  I  took  a 
fancy  to  buy  that  for  father,”  said  Jo,  very  anxious  to 
learn  the  fate  of  her  sister’s  work. 


Consequences  385 

“  Everything  of  Amy’s  sold  long  ago ;  I  took  care 
that  the  right  people  saw  them,  and  they  made  a  nice 
little  sum  of  money  for  us,”  returned  May,  who  had 
overcome  sundry  small  temptations,  as  well  as  Amy, 
that  day. 

Much  gratified,  Jo  rushed  back  to  tell  the  good  news; 
and  Amy  looked  both  touched  and  surprised  by  the 
report  of  May’s  words  and  manner. 

“  Now,  gentlemen,  I  want  you  to  go  and  do  your  duty 
by  the  other  tables  as  generously  as  you  have  by  mine 
—  especially  the  art-table,”  she  said,  ordering  out 
“Teddy’s  Own,”  as  the  girls  called  the  college  friends. 

“  ‘  Charge,  Chester,  charge  !  ’  is  the  motto  for  that 
table;  but  do  your  duty  like  men,  and  you’ll  get  your 
money’s  worth  of  art  in  every  sense  of  the  word,”  said 
the  irrepressible  Jo,  as  the  devoted  phalanx  prepared  to 
take  the  field. 

“  To  hear  is  to  obey,  but  March  is  fairer  far  than 
May,”  said  little  Parker,  making  a  frantic  effort  to  be 
both  witty  and  tender,  and  getting  promptly  quenched 
by  Laurie,  who  said,  “  Very  well,  my  son,  for  a  small 
boy !  ”  and  walked  him  off,  with  a  paternal  pat  on  the 
head. 

“  Buy  the  vases,”  whispered  Amy  to  Laurie,  as  a  final 
heaping  of  coals  of  fire  on  her  enemy’s  head. 

To  May’s  great  delight,  Mr.  Laurence  not  only  bought 
the  vases,  but  pervaded  the  hall  with  one  under  each 
arm.  The  other  gentlemen  speculated  with  equal  rash¬ 
ness  in  all  sorts  of  frail  trifles,  and  wandered  helplessly 
about  afterward,  burdened  with  wax  flowers,  painted  fans, 
filigree  portfolios,  and  other  useful  and  appropriate 
purchases. 

Aunt  Carrol  was  there,  heard  the  story,  looked  pleased, 
and  said  something  to  Mrs.  March  in  a  corner,  which 

25 


Little  Women 


386 

made  the  latter  lady  beam  with  satisfaction,  and  watch 
Amy  with  a  face  full  of  mingled  pride  and  anxiety, 
though  she  did  not  betray  the  cause  of  her  pleasure  till 
several  days  later. 

The  fair  was  pronounced  a  success ;  and  when  May 
bade  Amy  good  night,  she  did  not  “  gush  ”  as  usual,  but 
gave  her  an  affectionate  kiss,  and  a  look  which  said, 
“Forgive  and  forget.”  That  satisfied  Amy;  and  when 
she  got  home  she  found  the  vases  paraded  on  the  parlor 
chimney-piece,  with  a  great  bouquet  in  each.  “  The 
reward  of  merit  for  a  magnanimous  March,”  as  Laurie 
announced  with  a  flourish. 

“You’ve  a  deal  more  principle  and  generosity  and  < 
nobleness  of  character  than  I  ever  gave  you  credit  for, 
Amy.  You ’ve  behaved  sweetly,  and  I  respect  you  with 
all  my  heart,”  said  Jo  warmly,  as  they  brushed  their  hair 
together  late  that  night. 

“Yes,  we  all  do,  and  love  her  for  being  so  ready  to 
forgive.  It  must  have  been  dreadfully  hard,  after  work¬ 
ing  so  long,  and  setting  your  heart  on  selling  your  own 
pretty  things.  I  don’t  believe  I  could  have  done  it  as 
kindly  as  you  did,”  added  Beth  from  her  pillow. 

“  Why,  girls,  you  need  n’t  praise  me  so  ;  I  only  did  as 
I’d  be  done  by.  You  laugh  at  me  when  I  say  I  want 
to  be  a  lady,  but  I  mean  a  true  gentlewoman  in  mind 
and  manners,  and  I  try  to  do  it  as  far  as  I  know  how.  I 
can’t  explain  exactly,  but  I  want  to  be  above  the  little 
meannesses  and  follies  and  faults  that  spoil  so  many 
women.  I ’m  far  from  it  now,  but  I  do  my  best,  and 
hope  in  time  to  be  what  mother  is.” 

Amy  spoke  earnestly,  and  Jo  said,  with  a  cordial 
hug,— 

“  I  understand  now  what  you  mean,  and  I  ’ll  never 
laugh  at  you  again.  You  are  getting  on  faster  than  you 


Consequences  387 

think,  and  I  ’ll  take  lessons  of  you  in  true  politeness,  for 
you’ve  learned  the  secret,  I  believe.  Try  away,  deary; 
you  ’ll  get  your  reward  some  day,  and  no  one  will  be 
more  delighted  than  I  shall.” 

A  week  later  Amy  did  get  her  reward,  and  poor  Jo 
found  it  hard  to  be  delighted.  A  letter  came  from 
Aunt  Carrol,  and  Mrs.  March’s  face  was  illuminated 
to  such  a  degree,  when  she  read  it,  that  Jo  and  Beth, 
who  were  with  her,  demanded  what  the  glad  tidings 
were. 

“  Aunt  Carrol  is  going  abroad  next  month,  and 
wants  —  ” 

“Me  to  go  with  her!  ”  burst  in  Jo,  flying  out  of  her 
chair  in  an  uncontrollable  rapture. 

“  No,  dear,  not  you  ;  it ’s  Amy.” 

“  O  mother  !  she ’s  too  young ;  it ’s  my  turn  first.  I ’ve 
wanted  it  so  long  —  it  would  do  me  so  much  good,  and 
be  so  altogether  splendid  —  I  must  go.” 

“I’m  afraid  it’s  impossible,  Jo.  Aunt  says  Amy, 
decidedly,  and  it  is  not  for  us  to  dictate  when  she  offers 
such  a  favor.” 

“  It ’s  always  so.  Amy  has  all  the  fun  and  I  have  all 
the  work.  It  isn’t  fair,  oh,  it  is  n’t  fair!”  cried  Jo 
passionately. 

“  I ’m  afraid  it  is  partly  your  own  fault,  dear.  When 
Aunt  spoke  to  me  the  other  day,  she  regretted  your 
blunt  manners  and  too  independent  spirit;  and  here 
she  writes,  as  if  quoting  something  you  had  said,  —  ‘  I 
planned  at  first  to  ask  Jo;  but  as  “favors  burden  her,” 
and  she  “  hates  French,”  I  think  I  won’t  venture  to  invite 
her.  Amy  is  more  docile,  will  make  a  good  com¬ 
panion  for  Flo,  and  receive  gratefully  any  help  the  trip 
may  give  her.’  ” 

“  Oh,  my  tongue,  my  abominable  tongue !  why  can’t 


Little  Women 


388 

I  learn  to  keep  it  quiet?”  groaned  Jo,  remembering 
words  which  had  been  her  undoing.  When  she  had 
heard  the  explanation  of  the  quoted  phrases,  Mrs.  March 
said  sorrowfully,  — 

“  I  wish  you  could  have  gone,  but  there  is  no  hope  of 
it  this  time  ;  so  try  to  bear  it  cheerfully,  and  don’t  sadden 
Amy’s  pleasure  by  reproaches  or  regrets.” 

“  I  ’ll  try,”  said  Jo,  winking  hard,  as  she  knelt  down  to 
pick  up  the  basket  she  had  joyfully  upset.  “  I  ’ll  take  a 
leaf  out  of  her  book,  and  try  not  only  to  seem  glad,  but 
to  be  so,  and  not  grudge  her  one  minute  of  happiness ; 
but  it  won’t  be  easy,  for  it  is  a  dreadful  disappointment ;  ” 
and  poor  Jo  bedewed  the  little  fat  pincushion  she  held 
with  several  very  bitter  tears. 

“  Jo,  dear,  I ’m  very  selfish,  but  I  could  n’t  spare  you, 
and  I ’m  glad  you  are  not  going  quite  yet,”  whispered 
Beth,  embracing  her,  basket  and  all,  with  such  a  cling¬ 
ing  touch  and  loving  face,  that  Jo  felt  comforted  in 
spite  of  the  sharp  regret  that  made  her  want  to  box 
her  own  ears,  and  humbly  beg  Aunt  Carrol  to  burden 
her  with  this  favor,  and  see  how  gratefully  she  would 
bear  it. 

By  the  time  Amy  came  in,  Jo  was  able  to  take  her 
part  in  the  family  jubilation ;  not  quite  as  heartily  as 
usual,  perhaps,  but  without  repinings  at  Amy’s  good 
fortune.  The  young  lady  herself  received  the  news  as 
tidings  of  great  joy,  went  about  in  a  solemn  sort  of 
rapture,  and  began  to  sort  her  colors  and  pack  her 
pencils  that  evening,  leaving  such  trifles  as  clothes, 
money,  and  passports  to  those  less  absorbed  in  visions 
of  art  than  herself. 

“  ft  is  n’t  a  mere  pleasure  trip  to  me,  girls,”  she  said 
impressively,  as  she  scraped  her  best  palette.  “  It 
will  decide  my  career;  for  if  I  have  any  genius,  I 


Consequences  389 

shall  find  it  out  in  Rome,  and  will  do  something  to 
prove  it.” 

“  Suppose  you  have  n’t?”  said  Jo,  sewing  away,  with 
red  eyes,  at  the  new  collars  which  were  to  be  handed 
over  to  Amy. 

“  Then  I  shall  come  home  and  teach  drawing  for  my 
living,”  replied  the  aspirant  for  fame,  with  philosophic 
composure ;  but  she  made  a  wry  face  at  the  prospect, 
and  scratched  away  at  her  palette  as  if  bent  on  vigorous 
measures  before  she  gave  up  her  hopes. 

“No,  you  won’t;  you  hate  hard  work,  and  you’ll 
marry  some  rich  man,  and  come  home  to  sit  in  the  lap 
of  luxury  all  your  days,”  said  Jo. 

“  Your  predictions  sometimes  come  to  pass,  but  I  don’t 
believe  that  one  will.  I ’m  sure  I  wish  it  would  for  if  I 
can’t  be  an  artist  myself,  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  help 
those  who  are,”  said  Amy,  smiling,  as  if  the  part  of  Rady 
Bountiful  would  suit  her  better  than  that  of  a  poor  draw¬ 
ing-teacher. 

“  Hum  !  ”  said  Jo,  with  a  sigh ;  “  if  you  wish  it  you  ’ll 
have  it,  for  your  wishes  are  always  granted  —  min? 
never,” 

“Would  you  like  to  go?”  asked  Amy,  thoughtfully 
patting  her  nose  with  her  knife. 

“  Rather !  ” 

“  Well,  in  a  year  or  two  I  ’ll  send  for  you,  and  we  ’ll 
dig  in  the  Forum  for  relics,  and  carry  out  all  the  plans 
we ’ve  made  so  many  times.” 

“  Thank  you  ;  I  ’ll  remind  you  of  your  promise  when 
that  joyful  day  comes,  if  it  ever  does,”  returned  Jo,  ac¬ 
cepting  the  vague  but  magnificent  offer  as  gratefully  as 
she  could. 

There  was  not  much  time  for  preparation,  and  the 
house  was  in  a  ferment  till  Amy  was  off  Jo  bore  up 


Little  Women 


39° 

very  well  till  the  last  flutter  of  blue  ribbon  vanished, 
when  she  retired  to  her  refuge,  the  garret,  and  cried  till 
she  could  n’t  cry  any  more.  Amy  likewise  bore  up 
stoutly  till  the  steamer  sailed;  then,  just  as  the  gang¬ 
way  was  about  to  be  withdrawn,  it  suddenly  came  over 
her  that  a  whole  ocean  was  soon  to  roll  between  her  and 
those  who  loved  her  best,  and  she  clung  to  Laurie,  the 
last  lingerer,  saying  with  a  sob,  — 

“  Oh,  take  care  of  them  for  me  ;  and  if  anything  should 
happen  —  ” 

“  I  will,  dear,  I  will ;  and  if  anything  happens,  I  ’ll 
come  and  comfort  you,”  whispered  Laurie,  little  dream¬ 
ing  that  he  would  be  called  upon  to  keep  his  word. 

So  Amy  sailed  away  to  find  the  old  world,  which  is 
always  new  and  beautiful  to  young  eyes,  while  her  father 
and  friend  watched  her  from  the  shore,  fervently  hoping 
that  none  but  gentle  fortunes  would  befall  the  happy- 
hearted  girl,  who  waved  her  hand  to  them  till  they 
could  see  nothing  but  the  summer  sunshine  dazzling 
on  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


OUR  FOREIGN  CORRESPONDENT 


“  London. 

EAREST  PEOPLE,— 

“  Here  I  really  sit  at  a  front  window  of  the 
Bath  Hotel,  Piccadilly.  It ’s  not  a  fashion¬ 
able  place,  but  uncle  stopped  here  years  ago,  and  won’t 
go  anywhere  else;  however,  we  don’t  mean  to  stay  long, 
so  it ’s  no  great  matter.  Oh,  I  can’t  begin  to  tell  you 
how  I  enjoy  it  all !  I  never  can,  so  I  ’ll  only  give  you 


Our  Foreign  Correspondent  391 

bits  out  of  my  note-book,  for  I  ’ve  done  nothing  but 
sketch  and  scribble  since  I  started. 

“  I  sent  a  line  from  Halifax,  when  I  felt  pretty  misera¬ 
ble,  but  after  that  I  got  on  delightfully,  seldom  ill,  on  deck 
all  day,  with  plenty  of  pleasant  people  to  amuse  me. 
Every  one- was  very  kind  to  me,  especially  the  officers. 
Don’t  laugh,  Jo;  gentlemen  really  are  very  necessary 
aboard  ship,  to  hold  on  to,  or  to  wait  upon  one;  and 
as  they  have  nothing  to  do,  it ’s  a  mercy  to  make  them 
useful,  otherwise  they  would  smoke  themselves  to  death, 
I ’m  afraid. 

“  Aunt  and  Flo  were  poorly  all  the  way,  and  liked  to 
be  let  alone,  so  when  I  had  done  what  I  could  for  them, 
I  went  and  enjoyed  myself.  Such  walks  on  deck,  such 
sunsets,  such  splendid  air  and  waves  !  It  was  almost  as 
exciting  as  riding  a  fast  horse,  when  we  went  rushing  on 
so  grandly.  I  wish  Beth  could  have  come,  it  would 
have  done  her  so  much  good  ;  as  for  Jo,  she  would  have 
gone  up  and  sat  on  the  main-top  jib,  or  whatever  the 
high  thing  is  called,  made  friends  with  the  engineers,  and 
tooted  on  the  captain’s  speaking-trumpet,  she ’d  have 
been  in  such  a  state  of  rapture. 

“  It  was  all  heavenly,  but  I  was  glad  to  see  the  Irish 
coast,  and  found  it  very  lovely,  so  green  and  sunny,  with 
brown  cabins  here  and  there,  ruins  on  some  of  the  hills, 
and  gentlemen’s  country-seats  in  the  valleys,  with  deer 
feeding  in  the  parks.  It  was  early  in  the  morning, 
but  I  did  n’t  regret  getting  up  to  see  it,  for  the  bay  was 
full  of  little  boats,  the  shore  so  picturesque,  and  a  rosy 
sky  overhead.  I  never  shall  forget  it. 

“  At  Queenstown  one  of  my  new  acquaintances  left 
us,  —  Mr.  Lennox,  —  and  when  I  said  something  about 
the  Lakes  of  Killarney,  he  sighed  and  sung,  with  a  look 
at  me,  — 


3  92 


Little  Women 


‘Oh,  have  yon  e’er  heard  of  Kate  Kearney? 

She  lives  on  the  banks  of  Killarney; 

From  the  glance  of  her  eye, 

Shun  danger  and  fly, 

For  fatal ’s  the  glance  of  Kate  Kearney.1 

Was  n’t  that  nonsensical? 

“We  only  stopped  at  Liverpool  a  few  hours.  It ’s  a 
dirty,  noisy  place,  and  I  was  glad  to  leave  it.  Uncle 
rushed  out  and  bought  a  pair  of  dog-skin  gloves,  some 
ugly,  thick  shoes,  and  an  umbrella,  and  got  shaved  a  la 
mutton-chop,  the  first  thing.  Then  he  flattered  himself 
that  he  looked  like  a  true  Briton ;  but  the  first  time  he 
had  the  mud  cleaned  off  his  shoes,  the  little  bootblack 
knew  that  an  American  stood  in  them,  and  said,  with 
a  grin,  ‘There  yer  har,  sir.  I’ve  give  ’em  the  latest 
Yankee  shine.’  It  amused  uncle  immensely.  Oh,  I 
must  tell  you  what  that  absurd  Lennox  did !  He  got 
his  friend  Ward,  who  came  on  with  us,  to  order  a  bou¬ 
quet  for  me,  and  the  first  thing  I  saw  in  my  room  was  a 
lovely  one,  with  ‘  Robert  Lennox’s  compliments,’  on  the 
card.  Was  n’t  that  fun,  girls?  I  like  travelling. 

“  I  never  shall  get  to  London  if  I  don’t  hurry.  The 
trip  was  like  riding  through  a  long  picture-gallery,  full 
of  lovely  landscapes.  The  farmhouses  were  my  de¬ 
light;  with  thatched  roofs,  ivy  up  to  the  eaves,  lat¬ 
ticed  windows,  and  stout  women  with  rosyr  children  at 
the  doors.  The  very  cattle  looked  more  tranquil  than 
ours,  as  they  stood  knee-deep  in  clover,  and  the  hens 
had  a  contented  cluck,  as  if  they  never  got  nervous,  like 
Yankee  biddies.  Such  perfect  color  I  never  saw,  —  the 
grass  so  green,  sky  so  blue,  grain  so  yellow,  woods  so 
dark,  —  I  was  in  a  rapture  all  the  way.  So  was  Flo ; 
and  we  kept  bouncing  from  one  side  to  the  other,  trying 
to  see  everything  while  we  were  whisking  along  at  the 


Our  Foreign  Correspondent  393 


rate  of  sixty  miles  an  hour.  Aunt  was  tired  and  went 
to  sleep,  but  uncle  read  his  guide-book,  and  would  n’t 
be  astonished  at  anything.  This  is  the  way  we  went  on : 
Amy,  flying  up,  —  ‘  Oh,  that  must  be  Kenilworth,  that 
gray  place  among  the  trees  !  ’  Flo,  darting  to  my  win¬ 
dow, —  ‘How  sweet!  We  must  go  there  some  time, 
won’t  we,  papa?  ’  Uncle,  calmly  admiring  his  boots,  — 
‘No,  my  dear,  not  unless  you  want  beer;  that’s  a 
brewery.’ 

“  A  pause,  —  then  Flo  cried  out,  ‘  Bless  me,  there ’s 
a  gallows  and  a  man  going  up.’  ‘Where,  where?’ 
shrieks  Amy,  staring  out  at  two  tall  posts  with  a  cross¬ 
beam  and  some  dangling  chains.  ‘  A  colliery,’  remarks 
uncle,  with  a  twinkle  of  the  eye.  ‘  Here ’s  a  lovely  flock 
of  lambs  all  lying  down,’  says  Amy.  ‘  See,  papa,  are  n’t 
they  pretty  !  ’  added  Flo  sentimentally.  ‘  Geese,  young 
ladies,’  returns  uncle,  in  a  tone  that  keeps  us  quiet  till 
Flo  settles  down  to  enjoy  ‘  The  Flirtations  of  Capt. 
Cavendish,’  and  I  have  the  scenery  all  to  myself. 

“  Of  course  it  rained  when  we  got  to  London,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  fog  and  umbrellas. 
We  rested,  unpacked,  and  shopped  a  little  between  the 
showers.  Aunt  Mary  got  me  some  new  things,  for  I 
came  off  in  such  a  hurry  I  was  n’t  half  ready.  A  white 
hat  and  blue  feather,  a  muslin  dress  to  match,  and  the 
loveliest  mantle  you  ever  saw.  Shopping  in  Regent 
Street  is  perfectly  splendid ;  things  seem  so  cheap  — 
nice  ribbons  only  sixpence  a  yard.  I  laid  in  a  stock, 
but  shall  get  my  gloves  in  Paris.  Does  n’t  that  sound 
sort  of  elegant  and  rich? 


“  Flo  and  I,  for  the  fun  of  it,  ordered  a  hansom  cab, 
while  aunt  and  uncle  were  out,  and  went  for  a  drive, 

I  though  we  learned  afterward  that  it  was  n’t  the  thing 
for  young  ladies  to  ride  in  them  alone.  It  was  so  droll ! 


Little  Women 


394 

for  when  we  were  shut  in  by  the  wooden  apron,  the  man 
drove  so  fast  that  Flo  was  frightened,  and  told  me  to 
stop  him.  But  he  was  up  outside  behind  somewhere 
and  I  couldn’t  get  at  him.  He  didn’t  hear  me  call, 
nor  see  me  flap  my  parasol  in  front,  and  there  we  were, 
quite  helpless,  rattling  away,  and  whirling  around  corners 
at  a  break-neck  pace.  At  last,  in  my  despair,  I  saw  a 
little  door  in  the  roof,  and  on  poking  it  open,  a  red  eye 
appeared,  and  a  beery  voice  said,  — 

“  ‘  Now  then,  mum  ?  ’ 

“  I  gave  my  order  as  soberly  as  I  could,  and  slamming 
down  the  door,  with  an  ‘  Aye,  aye,  mum,  ’  the  man  made 
his  horse  walk,  as  if  going  to  a  funeral.  I  poked  again, 
and  said,  ‘A  little  faster ;  ’  then  off  he  went,  helter-skelter, 
as  before,  and  we  resigned  ourselves  to  our  fate. 

“To-day  was  fair,  and  we  went  to  Hyde  Park,  close  by, 
for  we  are  more  aristocratic  than  we  look.  The  Duke  of 
Devonshire  lives  near.  I  often  see  his  footmen  lounging 
at  the  back  gate  ;  and  the  Duke  of  Wellington’s  house  is 
not  far  off.  Such  sights  as  I  saw,  my  dear !  It  was  as 
good  as  Punch,  for  there  were  fat  dowagers  rolling  about 
in  their  red  and  yellow  coaches,  with  gorgeous  Jeameses 
in  silk  stockings  and  velvet  coats,  up  behind,  and  pow¬ 
dered  coachmen  in  front.  Smart  maids,  with  the  rosiest 
children  I  ever  saw  ;  handsome  girls,  looking  half  asleep  ; 
dandies,  in  queer  English  hats  and  lavender  kids,  loung¬ 
ing  about,  and  tall  soldiers,  in  short  red  jackets  and 
muffin  caps  stuck  on  one  side,  looking  so  funny  I  longed 
to  sketch  them. 

“  Rotten  Row  means  ‘  Route  de  Roi}}  or  the  king’s  way; 
but  now  it ’s  more  like  a  riding-school  than  anything 
else.  The  horses  are  splendid,  and  the  men,  especially 
the  grooms,  ride  well ;  but  the  women  are  stiff,  and 
bounce,  which  is  n’t  according  to  our  rules.  I  longed  to 


Our  Foreign  Correspondent  395 

show  them  a  tearing  American  gallop,  for  they  trotted 
solemnly  up  and  down,  in  their  scant  habits  and  high 
hats,  looking  like  the  women  in  a  toy  Noah’s  Ark. 
Every  one  rides,  —  old  men,  stout  ladies,  little  children, 
—  and  the  young  folks  do  a  deal  of  flirting  here ;  I  saw 
a  pair  exchange  rosebuds,  for  it ’s  the  thing  to  wear  one  in 
the  button-hole,  and  I  thought  it  rather  a  nice  little  idea. 

“  In  the  P.  M.  to  Westminster  Abbey ;  but  don’t  expect 
me  to  describe  it,  that ’s  impossible  —  so  I  ’ll  only  say  it 
was  sublime  !  This  evening  we  are  going  to  see  Fechter, 
which  will  be  an  appropriate  end  to  the  happiest  day  of 
my  life. 

“  Midnight. 

“It’s  very  late,  but  I  can’t  let  my  letter  go  in  the 
morning  without  telling  you  what  happened  last  evening. 
Who  do  you  think  came  in,  as  we  were  at  tea?  Laurie’s 
English  friends,  Fred  and  Frank  Vaughn  !  I  was  so  sur¬ 
prised,  for  I  shouldn’t  have  known  them  but  for  the  cards. 
Both  are  tall  fellows,  with  whiskers;  Fred  handsome  in 
the  English  style,  and  Frank  much  better,  for  he  only 
limps  slightly,  and  uses  no  crutches.  They  had  heard 
from  Laurie  where  we  were  to  be,  and  came  to  ask  us 
to  their  house  ;  but  uncle  won’t  go,  so  we  shall  return  the 
call,  and  see  them  as  we  can.  They  went  to  the  theatre 
with  us,  and  we  did  have  such  a  good  time,  for  Frank 
devoted  himself  to  Flo,  and  Fred  and  I  talked  over  past, 
present,  and  future  fun  as  if  we  had  known  each  other  all 
our  days.  Tell  Beth  Frank  asked  for  her,  and  was  sorry 
to  hear  of  her  ill  health.  Fred  laughed  when  I  spoke  of 
Jo,  and  sent  his  ‘  respectful  compliments  to  the  big  hat.’ 
Neither  of  them  had  forgotten  Camp  Laurence,  or  the 
fun  we  had  there.  What  ages  ago  it  seems,  does  n’t  it? 

“  Aunt  is  tapping  on  the  wall  for  the  third  time,  so  I 
must  stop.  I  really  feel  like  a  dissipated  London  fine 


Little  Women 


3  96 

lady,  writing  here  so  late,  with  my  room  full  of  pretty 
things,  and  my  head  a  jumble  of  parks,  theatres,  new 
gowns,  and  gallant  creatures  who  say  ‘  Ah  !  ’  and  twirl 
their  blond  mustaches  with  the  true  English  lordliness. 
I  long  to  see  you  all,  and  in  spite  of  my  nonsense  am, 
as  ever,  your  loving  Amy.” 

“  Dear  Girls,  —  “  Paris- 

“  In  my  last  I  told  you  about  our  London  visit,  —  how 
kind  the  Vaughns  were,  and  what  pleasant  parties  they 
made  for  us.  I  enjoyed  the  trips  to  Hampton  Court  and 
the  Kensington  Museum  more  than  anything  else,  —  for 
at  Hampton  I  saw  Raphael’s  cartoons,  and,  at  the  Mu¬ 
seum,  rooms  full  of  pictures  by  Turner,  Lawrence,  Rey¬ 
nolds,  Hogarth,  and  the  other  great  creatures.  The  day 
in  Richmond  Park  was  charming,  for  we  had  a  regular 
English  picnic,  and  I  had  more  splendid  oaks  and  groups 
of  deer  than  I  could  copy;  also  heard  a  nightingale,  and 
saw  larks  go  up.  We  ‘  did  ’  London  to  our  hearts’  con¬ 
tent,  thanks  to  Fred  and  Frank,  and  were  sorry  to  go 
away ;  for,  though  English  people  are  slow  to  take  you 
in,  when  they  once  make  up  their  minds  to  do  it  they 
cannot  be  outdone  in  hospitality,  /  think.  The  Vaughns 
hope  to  meet  us  in  Rome  next  winter,  and  I  shall  be 
dreadfully  disappointed  if  they  don’t,  for  Grace  and  I  are 
great  friends,  and  the  boys  very  nice  fellows,  —  especially 
Fred. 

“  Well,  we  were  hardly  settled  here,  when  he  turned  up 
again,  saying  he  had  come  for  a  holiday,  and  was  going 
to  Switzerland.  Aunt  looked  sober  at  first,  but  he  was  so 
cool  about  it  she  could  n’t  say  a  word  ;  and  now  we  get 
on  nicely,  and  are  very  glad  he  came,  for  he  speaks 
French  like  a  native,  and  I  don’t  know  what  we  should 
do  without  him.  Uncle  doesn’t  know  ten  words,  and 


Our  Foreign  Correspondent  397 

I 

insists  on  talking  English  very  loud,  as  if  that  would  make 
people  understand  him.  Aunt’s  pronunciation  is  old- 
fashioned,  and  Flo  and  I,  though  we  flattered  ourselves 
that  we  knew  a  good  deal,  find  we  don’t,  and  are  very 
grateful  to  have  Fred  do  the  ‘ parley  vooing ,’  as  uncle 
calls  it. 

“  Such  delightful  times  as  we  are  having  !  sight-seeing 
from  morning  till  night,  stopping  for  nice  lunches  in  the 
gay  cafes ,  and  meeting  with  all  sorts  of  droll  adventures. 
Rainy  days  I  spend  in  the  Louvre,  revelling  in  pictures. 
Jo  would  turn  up  her  naughty  nose  at  some  of  the  finest, 
because  she  has  no  soul  for  art;  but  I  have,  and  I’m 
cultivating  eye  and  taste  as  fast  as  I  can.  She  would 
like  the  relics  of  great  people  better,  for  I  ’ve  seen  her 
Napoleon’s  cocked  hat  and  gray  coat,  his  baby’s  cradle 
and  his  old  toothbrush ;  also  Marie  Antoinette’s  little 
shoe,  the  ring  of  Saint  Denis,  Charlemagne’s  sword,  and 
many  other  interesting  things.  I  ’ll  talk  for  hours  about 
them  when  I  come,  but  have  n’t  time  to  write. 

“  The  Palais  Royale  is  a  heavenly  place, —  so  full  of 
bijouterie  and  lovely  things  that  I ’m  nearly  distracted 
because  I  can’t  buy  them.  Fred  wanted  to  get  me  some, 
but  of  course  I  did  n’t  allow  it.  Then  the  Bois  and  the 
Champs  Elysees  are  trh  magnifique .  I ’ve  seen  the  im¬ 
perial  family  several  times,  —  the  emperor  an  ugly,  hard- 
looking  man,  the  empress  pale  and  pretty,  but  dressed  in 
bad  taste,  I  thought,  —  purple  dre$s,  green  hat,  and 
yellow  gloves.  Little  Nap.  is  a  handsome  boy,  who  sits 
chatting  to  his  tutor,  and  kisses  his  hand  to  the  people  as 
he  passes  in  his  four-horse  barouche,  with  postilions  in  red 
satin  jackets,  and  a  mounted  guard  before  and  behind. 

“We  often  walk  in  the  Tuileries  Gardens,  for  they  are 
lovely,  though  the  antique  Luxembourg  Gardens  suit  me 
better.  Pere  la  Chaise  is  very  curious,  for  many  of  the 


Little  Women 


398 

tombs  are  like  small  rooms,  and,  looking  in,  one  sees  a 
table,  with  images  or  pictures  of  the  dead,  and  chairs  for 
the  mourners  to  sit  in  when  they  come  to  lament.  That 
is  so  Frenchy. 

“  Our  rooms  are  on  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  and,  sitting  in 
the  balcony,  we  look  up  and  down  the  long,  brilliant 
street.  It  is  so  pleasant  that  we  spend  our  evenings  talk¬ 
ing  there,  when  too  tired  with  our  day’s  work  to  go  out. 
Fred  is  very  entertaining,  and  is  altogether  the  most 
agreeable  young  man  I  ever  knew,  —  except  Laurie, 
whose  manners  are  more  charming.  I  wish  Fred  was 
dark,  for  I  don’t  fancy  light  men  ;  however,  the  Vaughns 
are  very  rich,  and  come  of  an  excellent  family,  so  I  won’t 
find  fault  with  their  yellow  hair,  as  my  own  is  yellower. 

“  Next  week  we  are  off  to  Germany  and  Switzerland ; 
and,  as  we  shall  travel  fast,  I  shall  only  be  able  to  give 
you  hasty  letters.  I  keep  my  diary,  and  try  to  ‘  remember 
correctly  and  describe  clearly  all  that  I  see  and  admire,’ 
as  father  advised.  It  is  good  practice  for  me,  and,  with 
my  sketch-book,  will  give  you  a  better  idea  of  my  tour 
than  these  scribbles. 

“  Adieu  ;  I  embrace  you  tenderly. 

“  VOTRE  AmIE.” 


“My  dear  Mamma, — 


“  Heidelberg. 


“  Having  a  quiet  hour  before  we  leave  for  Berne,  I  ’ll 
try  to  tell  you  what  has  happened,  for  some  of  it  is  very 
important,  as  you  will  see. 

“The  sail  up  the  Rhine  was  perfect,  and  I  just  sat 
and  enjoyed  it  with  all  my  might.  Get  father’s  old 
guide-books,  and  read  about  it ;  I  have  n’t  words 
beautiful  enough  to  describe  it.  At  Coblentz  we  had 
a  lovely  time,  for  some  students  from  Bonn,  with 
whom  Fred  got  acquainted  on  the  boat,  gave  us  a 


Our  Foreign  Correspondent  399 

serenade.  It  was  a  moonlight  night,  and,  about  one 
o’clock,  Flo  and  I  were  waked  by  the  most  delicious 
music  under  our  windows.  We  flew  up,  and  hid  be¬ 
hind  the  curtains;  but  sly  peeps  showed  us  Fred  and 
the  students  singing  away  down  below.  It  was  the 
most  romantic  thing  I  ever  saw,  —  the  river,  the 
bridge  of  boats,  the  great  fortress  opposite,  moon¬ 
light  everywhere,  and  music  fit  to  melt  a  heart  of 
stone. 

“  When  they  were  done  we  threw  down  some  flowers, 
and  saw  them  scramble  for  them,  kiss  their  hands  to 
the  invisible  ladies,  and  go  laughing  away,  —  to  smoke 
and  drink  beer,  I  suppose.  Next  morning  Fred  showed 
me  one  of  the  crumpled  flowers  in  his  vest-pocket,  and 
looked  very  sentimental.  I  laughed  at  him,  and  said  I 
did  n’t  throw  it,  but  Flo,  which  seemed  to  disgust  him, 
for  he  tossed  it  out  of  the  window,  and  turned  sensible 
again.  I ’m  afraid  I ’m  going  to  have  trouble  with  that 
boy,  it  begins  to  look  like  it. 

“The  baths  at  Nassau  were  very  gay,  so  was  Baden- 
Baden,  where  Fred  lost  some  money,  and  I  scolded 
him.  He  needs  some  one  to  look  after  him  when 
Frank  is  not  with  him.  Kate  said  once  she  hoped 
he  ’d  marry  soon,  and  I  quite  agree  with  her  that  it 
would  be  well  for  him.  Frankfort  was  delightful;  I 
saw  Goethe’s  house,  Schiller’s  statue,  and  Dannecker’s 
famous  ‘  Ariadne.’  It  was  very  lovely,  but  I  should 
have  enjoyed  it  more  if  I  had  known  the  story  better. 
I  did  n’t  like  to  ask,  as  every  one  knew  it  or  pretended 
they  did.  I  wish  Jo  would  tell  me  all  about  it;  I  ought 
to  have  read  more,  for  I  find  I  don’t  know  anything, 
and  it  mortifies  me. 

“  Now  comes  the  serious  part, —  for  it  happened  here, 
and  Fred  is  just  gone.  He  has  been  so  kind  and  jolly 


I 


Little  Women 


4.00 

that  we  all  got  quite  fond  of  him ;  I  never  thought  of 
anything  but  a  travelling  friendship,  till  the  serenade 
night.  Since  then  I ’ve  begun  to  feel  that  the  moon¬ 
light  walks,  balcony  talks,  and  daily  adventures  were 
something  more  to  him  than  fun.  I  have  n’t  flirted, 
mother,  truly,  but  remembered  what  you  said  to  me, 
and  have  done  my  very  best.  I  can’t  help  it  if  people 
like  me ;  I  don’t  try  to  make  them,  and  it  worries  me 
if  I  don’t  care  for  them,  though  Jo  says  I  haven’t  got 
any  heart.  Now  I  know  mother  will  shake  her  head, 
and  the  girls  say,  ‘  Oh,  the  mercenary  little  wretch  !  ’ 
but  I’ve  made  up  my  mind,  and,  if  Fred  asks  me,  I 
shall  accept  him,  though  I ’m  not  madly  in  love.  I 
like  him,  and  we  get  on  comfortably  together.  He  is 
handsome,  young,  clever  enough,  and  very  rich,  — 
ever  so  much  richer  than  the  Laurences.  I  don’t 
think  his  family  would  object,  and  I  should  be  very 
happy,  for  they  are  all  kind,  well-bred,  generous 
people,  and  they  like  me.  Fred,  as  the  eldest  twin, 
will  have  the  estate,  I  suppose,  and  such  a  splendid 
one  as  it  is !  A  city  house  in  a  fashionable  street, 
not  so  showy  as  our  big  houses,  but  twice  as  com¬ 
fortable,  and  full  of  solid  luxury,  such  as  English 
people  believe  in.  I  like  it,  for  it’s  genuine.  I’ve 
seen  the  plate,  the  family  jewels,  the  old  servants,  and 
pictures  of  the  country  place,  with  its  park,  great 
house,  lovely  grounds,  and  fine  horses.  Oh,  it  would 
be  all  I  should  ask  !  and  I ’d  rather  have  it  than  any 
title  such  as  girls  snap  up  so  readily,  and  find  nothing 
behind.  I  may  be  mercenary,  but  I  hate  poverty,  and 
don’t  mean  to  bear  it  a  minute  longer  than  I  can  help. 
One  of  us  must  marry  well;  Meg  didn’t,  Jo  won’t, 
Beth  can’t  yet,  so  I  shall,  and  make  everything  cosey 
all  round.  I  would  n’t  marry  a  man  I  hated  or  de- 


Our  Foreign  Correspondent  401 

spised.  You  may  be  sure  of  that;  and,  though  Fred 
is  not  my  model  hero,  he  does  very  well,  and,  in  time, 
I  should  get  fond  enough  of  him  if  he  was  very  fond 
of  me,  and  let  me  do  just  as  I  liked.  So  I’ve  been 
turning  the  matter  over  in  my  mind  the  last  week, 
for  it  was  impossible  to  help  seeing  that  Fred  liked 
me.  He  said  nothing,  but  little  things  showed  it;  he 
never  goes  with  Flo,  always  gets  on  my  side  of  the 
carriage,  table,  or  promenade,  looks  sentimental  when 
we  are  alone,  and  frowns  at  any  one  else  who  ven¬ 
tures  to  speak  to  me.  Yesterday,  at  dinner,  when  an 
Austrian  officer  stared  at  us,  and  then  said  some¬ 
thing  to  his  friend,  —  a  rakish-looking  baron,  —  about 
*  ein  wonder schones  Blondchen ,’  Fred  looked  as  fierce 
as  a  lion,  and  cut  his  meat  so  savagely,  it  nearly 
flew  off  his  plate.  He  is  n’t  one  of  the  cool,  stiff 
Englishmen,  but  is  rather  peppery,  for  he  has  Scotch 
blood  in  him,  as  one  might  guess  from  his  bonnie 
blue  eyes. 

“Well,  last  evening  we  went  up  to  the  castle  about 
sunset,  —  at  least  all  of  us  but  Fred,  who  was  to  meet 
us  there,  after  going  to  the  Post  Restante  for  letters. 
We  had  a  charming  time  poking  about  the  ruins,  the 
vaults  where  the  monster  tun  is,  and  the  beautiful 
gardens  made  by  the  elector,  long  ago,  for  his  English 
wife.  I  liked  the  great  terrace  best,  for  the  view  was 
divine ;  so,  while  the  rest  went  to  see  the  rooms  inside, 
I  sat  there  trying  to  sketch  the  gray  stone  lion’s  head 
on  the  wall,  with  scarlet  woodbine  sprays  hanging  round 
it.  I  felt  as  if  I ’d  got  into  a  romance,  sitting  there, 
watching  the  Neckar  rolling  through  the  valley,  listen¬ 
ing  to  the  music  of  the  Austrian  band  below,  and  wait¬ 
ing  for  my  lover,  like  a  real  story-book  girl.  I  had  a 

feeling  that  something  was  going  to  happen,  and  I  was 

26 


Little  Women 


402 

ready  for  it.  I  did  n’t  feel  blushy  or  quakey,  but  quite 
cool,  and  only  a  little  excited. 

“  By  and  by  I  heard  Fred’s  voice,  and  then  he  came 
hurrying  through  the  great  arch  to  find  me.  He  looked 
ko  troubled  that  I  forgot  all  about  myself,  and  asked 
what  the  matter  was.  He  said  he ’d  just  got  a  letter 
begging  him  to  come  home,  for  Frank  was  very  ill;  so 
he  was  going  at  once,  in  the  night  train,  and  only  had 
time  to  say  good-by.  I  was  very  sorry  for  him,  and 
disappointed  for  myself,  but  only  for  a  minute,  because 
he  said,  as  he  shook  hands,  —  and  said  it  in  a  way  that 
I  could  not  mistake,  —  ‘I  shall  soon  come  back;  you 
won’t  forget  me,  Amy?’ 

“  I  did  n’t  promise,  but  I  looked  at  him,  and  he 
seemed  satisfied,  and  there  was  no  time  for  anything 
but  messages  and  good-byes,  for  he  was  off  in  an  hour, 
and  we  all  miss  him  very  much.  I  know  he  wanted 
to  speak,  but  I  think,  from  something  he  once  hinted, 
that  he  had  promised  his  father  not  to  do  anything  of 
the  sort  yet  awhile,  for  he  is  a  rash  boy,  and  the  old 
gentleman  dreads  a  foreign  daughter-in-law.  We  shall 
soon  meet  in  Rome ;  and  then,  if  I  don’t  change  my 
mind,  I’ll  say  ‘Yes,  thank  you,’  when  he  says  ‘Will 
you,  please?’ 

“  Of  course  this  is  all  very  private ,  but  I  wished  you 
to  know  what  was  going  on.  Don’t  be  anxious  about 
me ;  remember  I  am  your  ‘  prudent  Amy,’  and  be  sure 
I  will  do  nothing  rashly.  Send  me  as  much  advice  as 
you  like  ;  I  ’ll  use  it  if  I  can.  I  wish  I  could  see  you 
for  a  good  talk,  Marmee.  Love  and  trust  me, 

“  Ever  your 


Amy  ” 


Tender  Troubles 


403 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


TENDER  TROUBLES 


it 


J 


O,  I  ’m  anxious  about  Beth.” 

“  Why,  mother,  she  has  seemed  unusually 
well  since  the  babies  came.” 

“  It’s  not  her  health  that  troubles  me  now;  it’s  her 
spirits.  I ’m  sure  there  is  something  on  her  mind,  and 
I  want  you  to  discover  what  it  is.” 

“What  makes  you  think  so,  mother?” 

“  She  sits  alone  a  good  deal,  and  does  n’t  talk  to  her 
father  as  much  as  she  used.  I  found  her  crying  over 
the  babies  the  other  day.  When  she  sings,  the  songs 
are  always  sad  ones,  and  now  and  then  I  see  a  look  in 
her  face  that  I  don’t  understand.  This  is  n’t  like  Beth, 
and  it  worries  me.” 

“  Have  you  asked  her  about  it?  ” 

“I  have  tried  once  or  twice;  but  she  either  evaded 
my  questions,  or  looked  so  distressed  that  I  stopped. 
I  never  force  my  children’s  confidence,  and  I  seldom 
have  to  wait  for  it  long.” 

Mrs.  March  glanced  at  Jo  as  she  spoke,  but  the  face 
opposite  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  any  secret  dis¬ 
quietude  but  Beth’s;  and,  after  sewing  thoughtfully  for 
a  minute,  Jo  said,  — 

“  I  think  she  is  growing  up,  and  so  begins  to  dream 
dreams,  and  have  hopes  and  fears  and  fidgets,  without 
knowing  why,  or  being  able  to  explain  them.  Why, 
mother,  Beth ’s  eighteen,  but  we  don’t  realize  it,  and 
treat  her  like  a  child,  forgetting  she ’s  a  woman.” 

“  So  she  is.  Dear  heart,  how  fast  you  do  grow  up,” 
returned  her  mother,  with  a  sigh  and  a  smile. 


Little  Women 


404 

“  Can’t  be  helped,  Marmee,  so  you  must  resign  your¬ 
self  to  all  sorts  of  worries,  and  let  your  birds  hop  out  of 
the  nest,  one  by  one.  I  promise  never  to  hop  very  far, 
if  that  is  any  comfort  to  you.” 

“  It  is  a  great  comfort,  Jo ;  I  always  feel  strong  when 
you  are  at  home,  now  Meg  is  gone.  Beth  is  too  feeble 
and  Amy  too  young  to  depend  upon ;  but  when  the  tug 
comes,  you  are  always  ready.” 

“  Why,  you  krrow  I  don’t  mind  hard  jobs  much,  and 
there  must  always  be  one  scrub  in  a  family.  Amy  is 
splendid  in  fine  works,  and  I’m  not;  but  I  feel  in  my 
element  when  all  the  carpets  are  to  be  taken  up,  or  half 
the  family  fall  sick  at  once.  Amy  is  distinguishing  her¬ 
self  abroad  ;  but  if  anything  is  amiss  at  home,  I  ’m  your 
man.” 

“  I  leave  Beth  to  your  hands,  then,  for  she  will  open 
her  tender  little  heart  to  her  Jo  sooner  than  to  any  one 
else.  Be  very  kind,  and  don’t  let  her  think  any  one 
watches  or  talks  about  her.  If  she  only  would  get  quite 
strong  and  cheerful  again,  I  should  n’t  have  a  wish  in 
the  world.” 

“  Happy  woman  !  I ’ve  got  heaps.” 

“  My  dear,  what  are  they?” 

“  I  ’ll  settle  Bethy’s  troubles,  and  then  I  ’ll  tell  you 
mine.  They  are  not  very  wearing,  so  they  ’ll  keep  ;  ” 
and  Jo  stitched  away,  with  a  wise  nod  which  set  her 
mother’s  heart  at  rest  about  her,  for  the  present  at 
least. 

While  apparently  absorbed  in  her  own  affairs,  Jo 
watched  Beth ;  and,  after  many  conflicting  conjectures, 
finally  settled  upon  one  which  seemed  to  explain  the 
change  in  her.  A  slight  incident  gave  Jo  the  clue  to  the 
mystery,  she  thought,  and  lively  fancy,  loving  heart,  did 
the  rest,  She  was  affecting  to  write  busily  one  Saturday 


Tender  Troubl  es 


405 

afternoon,  when  she  and  Beth  were  alone  together ;  yet 
as  she  scribbled,  she  kept  her  eye  on  her  sister,  who 
seemed  unusually  quiet.  Sitting  at  the  window,  Beth’s 
work  often  dropped  into  her  lap,  and  she  leaned  her 
head  upon  her  hand,  in  a  dejected  attitude,  while  her 
,eyes  rested  on  the  dull,  autumnal  landscape.  Suddenly 
some  one  passed  below,  whistling  like  an  operatic  black¬ 
bird,  and  a  voice  called  out, — 

“  All  serene  !  Coming  in  to-night.” 

Beth  started,  leaned  forward,  smiled  and  nodded, 
watched  the  passer-by  till  his  quick  tramp  died  away, 
then  said  softly,  as  if  to  herself,  — ■ 

“  How  strong  and  well  and  happy  that  dear  boy 

looks.’ 

“Hum!  ”  said  Jo,  still  intent  upon  her  sister’s  face; 
for  the  bright  color  faded  as  quickly  as  it  came,  the 
smile  vanished,  and  presently  a  tear  lay  shining  on  the 
window-ledge.  Beth  whisked  it  off,  and  glanced  appre¬ 
hensively  at  Jo;  but  she  was  scratching  away  at  a  tre¬ 
mendous  rate,  apparently  engrossed  in  “Olympia’s  Oath.” 
The  instant  Beth  turned,  Jo  began  her  watch  again,  saw 
Beth’s  hand  go  quietly  to  her  eyes  more  than  once,  and, 
in  her  half-averted  face,  read  a  tender  sorrow  that  made 
her  own  eyes  fill.  Fearing  to  betray  herself,  she  slipped 
away,  murmuring  something  about  needing  more  paper. 

“  Mercy  on  me,  Beth  loves  Laurie  !  ”  she  said,  sitting 
down  in  her  own  room,  pale  with  the  shock  of  the  dis¬ 
covery  which  she  believed  she  had  just  made.  “  I  never 
dreamt  of  such  a  thing.  What  will  mother  say?  I 
wonder  if  he — ”  there  Jo  stopped,  and  turned  scarlet 
with  a  sudden  thought.  “  If  he  should  n’t  love  back 
again,  how  dreadful  it  would  be.  He  must;  I’ll  make 
him !  ”  and  she  shook  her  head  threateningly  at  the 
picture  of  the  mischievous-looking  boy  laughing  at  her 


Little  Women 


406 

from  the  wall.  “  Oh  dear,  we  are  growing  up  with  a 
vengeance.  Here ’s  Meg  married  and  a  mamma,  Amy 
flourishing  away  at  Paris,  and  Beth  in  love.  I ’m  the 
only  one  that  has  sense  enough  to  keep  out  of  mis¬ 
chief.”  Jo  thought  intently  for  a  minute,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  picture;  then  she  smoothed  out  her 
wrinkled  forehead,  and  said,  with  a  decided  nod  at 
the  face  opposite,  “  No,  thank  you,  sir;  you’re  very 
charming,  but  you ’ve  no  more  stability  than  a  weather¬ 
cock  ;  so  you  need  n’t  write  touching  notes,  and  smile 
in  that  insinuating  way,  for  it  won’t  do  a  bit  of  good,  and 
I  won’t  have  it.” 

Then  she  sighed,  and  fell  into  a  reverie,  from  which 
she  did  not  wake  till  the  early  twilight  sent  her  down  to 
take  new  observations,  which  only  confirmed  her  sus¬ 
picion.  Though  Laurie  flirted  with  Amy  and  joked 
with  Jo,  his  manner  to  Beth  had  always  been  peculiarly 
kind  and  gentle,  but  so  was  everybody’s ;  therefore,  no 
one  thought  of  imagining  that  he  cared  more  for  her  than 
for  the  others.  Indeed,  a  general  impression  had  pre¬ 
vailed  in  the  family,  of  late,  that  “  our  boy”  was  getting 
fonder  than  ever  of  Jo,  who,  however,  would  n’t  hear  a 
word  upon  the  subject,  and  scolded  violently  if  any  one 
dared  to  suggest  it.  If  they  had  known  the  various  ten¬ 
der  passages  of  the  past  year,  or  rather  attempts  at  ten¬ 
der  passages  which  had  been  nipped  in  the  bud,  they 
would  have  had  the  immense  satisfaction  of  saying, 
“  I  told  you  so.”  But  Jo  hated  “  philandering,”  and 
would  n’t  allow  it,  always  haviag  a  joke  or  a  smile  ready 
at  the  least  sign  of  impending  danger. 

When  Laurie  first  went  to  college,  he  fell  in  love 
about  once  a  month;  but  these  small  flames  were  as 
brief  as  ardent,  did  no  damage,  and  much  amused  Jo, 
who  took  great  interest  in  the  alternations  of  hope,  de- 


Tender  Troubles  407 

spair,  and  resignation,  which  were  confided  to  her  in 
their  weekly  conferences.  But  there  came  a  time  when 
Laurie  ceased  to  worship  at  many  shrines,  hinted  darkly 
at  one  all-absorbing  passion,  and  indulged  occasionally 
in  Byronic  fits  of  gloom.  Then  he  avoided  the  tender 
subject  altogether,  wrote  philosophical  notes  to  Jo, 
turned  studious,  and  gave  out  that  he  was  going  to 
“  dig,”  intending  to  graduate  in  a  blaze  of  glory.  This 
suited  the  young  lady  better  than  twilight  confidences, 
tender  pressures  of  the  hand,  and  eloquent  glances  of 
the  eye;  for  with  Jo,  brain  developed  earlier  than  heart, 
and  she  preferred  imaginary  heroes  to  real  ones,  be¬ 
cause,  when  tired  of  them,  the  former  could  be  shut  up 
in  the  tin-kitchen  till  called  for,  and  the  latter  were  less 
manageable. 

Things  were  in  this  state  when  the  grand  discovery 
was  made,  and  Jo  watched  Laurie  that  night  as  she  had 
never  done  before.  If  she  had  not  got  the  new  idea  into 
her  head,  she  would  have  seen  nothing  unusual  in  the 
fact  that  Beth  was  very  quiet,  and  Laurie  very  kind  to 
her.  But  having  given  the  rein  to  her  lively  fancy,  it 
galloped  away  with  her  at  a  great  pace ;  and  common 
sense,  being  rather  weakened  by  a  long  course  of  ro¬ 
mance  writing,  did  not  come  to  the  rescue.  As  usual, 
Beth  lay  on  the  sofa,  and  Laurie  sat  in  a  low  chair  close 
by,  amusing  her  with  all  sorts  of  gossip ;  for  she  de¬ 
pended  on  her  weekly  “  spin,”  and  he  never  disap¬ 
pointed  her.  But  that  evening,  Jo  fancied  that  Beth’s 
eyes  rested  on  the  lively,  dark  face  beside  her  with 
peculiar  pleasure,  and  that  she  listened  with  intense 
interest  to  an  account  of  some  exciting  cricket-match, 
though  the  phrases,  “caught  off  a  tice,”  “stumped  off 
his  ground,”  and  “  the  leg  hit  for  three,”  were  as  intel¬ 
ligible  to  her  as  Sanscrit.  She  also  fancied,  having  set 


Little  Women 


408 

her  heart  upon  seeing  it,  that  she  saw  a  certain  increase 
of  gentleness  in  Laurie’s  manner,  that  he  dropped  his 
voice  now  and  then,  laughed  less  than  usual,  was  a  little 
absent-minded,  and  settled  the  afghan  over  Beth’s  feet 
with  an  assiduity  that  was  really  almost  tender. 

“Who  knows?  stranger  things  have  happened,” 
thought  Jo,  as  she  fussed  about  the  room.  “  She  will 
make  quite  an  angel  of  him,  and  he  will  make  life  de¬ 
lightfully  easy  and  pleasant  for  the  dear,  if  they  only 
love  each  other.  I  don’t  see  how  he  can  help  it;  and  I 
do  believe  he  would  if  the  rest  of  us  were  out  of  the 
way.” 

As  every  one  was  out  of  the  way  but  herself,  Jo  began 
to  feel  that  she  ought  to  dispose  of  herself  with  al) 
speed.  But  where  should  she  go?  and  burning  to  lay 
herself  upon  the  shrine  of  sisterly  devotion,  she  sat  down 
to  settle  that  point. 

Now,  the  old  sofa  was  a  regular  patriarch  of  a  sofa, 
—  long,  broad,  well-cushioned,  and  low;  a  trifle  shabby, 
as  well  it  might  be,  for  the  girls  had  slept  and  sprawled 
on  it  as  babies,  fished  over  the  back,  rode  on  the  arms, 
and  had  menageries  under  it  as  children,  and  rested  tired 
heads,  dreamed  dreams,  and  listened  to  tender  talk  on  it 
as  young  women.  They  all  loved  it,  for  it  was  a  family 
refuge,  and  one  corner  had  always  been  Jo’s  favorite 
icunging-place.  Among  the  many  pillows  that  adorned 
the  venerable  couch  was  one,  hard,  round,  covered  with 
prickly  horsehair,  and  furnished  with  a  knobby  button 
at  each  end  ;  this  repulsive  pillow  was  her  especial  prop¬ 
erty,  being  used  as  a  weapon  of  defence,  a  barricade, 
or  a  stern  preventive  of  too  much  slumber. 

Laurie  knew  this  pillow  well,  and  had  cause  to  regard 
it  with  deep  aversion,  having  been  unmercifully  pum¬ 
melled  with  it  in  former  days  when  romping  was  allowed, 


Tender  Troubles 


409 

and  now  frequently  debarred  by  it  from  taking  the  seat 
he  most  coveted,  next  to  Jo  in  the  sofa  corner.  If  “  the 
sausage,”  as  they  called  it,  stood  on  end,  it  was  a  sign 
that  he  might  approach  and  repose ;  but  if  it  lay  flat 
across  the  sofa,  woe  to  the  man,  woman,  or  child  who 
dared  disturb  it!  That  evening  Jo  forgot  to  barricade 
her  corner,  and  had  not  been  in  her  seat  five  minutes, 
before  a  massive  form  appeared  beside  her,  and,  with 
both  arms  spread  over  the  sofa-back,  both  long  legs 
stretched  out  before  him,  Laurie  exclaimed,  with  a  sigh 
of  satisfaction,  — 

“  Now,  this  is  filling  at  the  price.” 

“  No  slang,”  snapped  Jo,  slamming  down  the  pillow. 
But  it  was  too  late,  there  was  no  room  for  it;  and,  coast¬ 
ing  on  to  the  floor,  it  disappeared  in  a  most  mysterious 
manner. 

“  Come,  Jo,  don’t  be  thorny.  After  studying  himself 
to  a  skeleton  all  the  week,  a  fellow  deserves  petting,  and 
ought  to  get  it.” 

“  Beth  will  pet  you  ;  I ’m  busy.” 

“  No,  she ’s  not  to  be  bothered  with  me ;  but  you  like 
that  sort  of  thing,  unless  you ’ve  suddenly  lost  your  taste 
for  it.  Have  you?  Do  you  hate  your  boy,  and  want  to 
fire  pillows  at  him?  ” 

Anything  more  wheedlesome  than-  that  touching  ap¬ 
peal  was  seldom  heard,  but  Jo  quenched  “  her  boy  ”  by 
turning  on  him  with  the  stern  query,  — 

“  How  many  bouquets  have  you  sent  Miss  Randal  this 
week?”  " 

“  Not  one,  upon  my  word.  She  ’s  engaged.  Now 
then.” 

“  I’m  glad  of  it;  that’s  one  of  your  foolish  extrava¬ 
gances,  —  sending  flowers  and  things  to  girls  for  whom 
you  don’t  care  two  pins,”  continued  Jo  reprovingly. 


Little  Women 


410 

“  Sensible  girls,  for  whom  I  do  care  whole  papers 
of  pins,  won’t  let  me  send  them  ‘  flowers  and  things,’  so 
what  can  I  do?  My  feelings  must  have  a  went!' 

“  Mother  does  n’t  approve  of  flirting,  even  in  fun  ;  and 
you  do  flirt  desperately,  Teddy.” 

“  I ’d  give  anything  if  I  could  answer,  (  So  do  you.’ 
As  I  can’t,  I  ’ll  merely  say  that  I  don’t  see  any  harm  in 
that  pleasant  little  game,  if  all  parties  understand  that 
it ’s  only  play.” 

“  Well,  it  does  look  pleasant,  but  I  can’t  learn  how  it ’s 
done.  I ’ve  tried,  because  one  feels  awkward  in  com¬ 
pany,  not  to  do  as  everybody  else  is  doing;  but  I  don’t 
seem  to  get  on,”  said  Jo,  forgetting  to  play  Mentor. 

“  Take  lessons  of  Amy ;  she  has  a  regular  talent  for 
it.” 

“  Yes,  she  does  it  very  prettily,  and  never  seems  to  go 
too  far.  I  suppose  it ’s  natural  to  some  people  to  please 
without  trying,  and  others  to  always  say  and  do  the 
wrong  thing  in  the  wrong  place.” 

“  I ’m  glad  you  can’t  flirt;  it ’s  really  refreshing  to  see 
a  sensible,  straightforward  girl,  who  can  be  jolly  and 
kind  without  making  a  fool  of  herself.  Between  our¬ 
selves,  Jo,  some  of  the  girls  I  know  really  do  go  on  at 
such  a  rate  I ’m  ashamed  of  them.  They  don’t  mean  any 
harm,  I’m  sure;  but  if  they  knew  how  we  fellows  talked 
about  them  afterward,  they ’d  mend  their  ways,  I  fancy.” 

“They  do  the  same;  and,  as  their  tongues  are  the 
sharpest,  you  fellows  get  the  worst  of  it,  for  you  are  as 
silly  as  they,  every  bit.  If  you  behaved  properly,  they 
would ;  but,  knowing  you  like  their  nonsense,  they  keep 
it  up,  and  then  you  blame  them.” 

“  Much  you  know  about  it,  ma’am,”  said  Laurie,  in  a 
superior  tone.  “We  don’t  like  romps  and  flirts,  though 
we  may  act  as  if  we  did  sometimes.  The  pretty,  modest 


Tender  Troubles  41 1 

girls  are  never  talked  about,  except  respectfully,  among 
gentlemen.  Bless  your  innocent  soul!  If  you  could  be 
in  my  place  for  a  month  you  ’d  see  things  that  would 
astonish  you  a  trifle.  Upon  my  word,  when  I  see  one  of 
those  harum-scarum  girls,  I  always  want  to  say  with  our 
friend  Cock  Robin,  — 

“  ‘  Out  upon  you,  fie  upon  you, 

Bold-faced  jig  !  ’  ” 

It  was  impossible  to  help  laughing  at  the  funny  con¬ 
flict  between  Laurie’s  chivalrous  reluctance  to  speak  ill 
of  womankind,  and  his  very  natural  dislike  of  the  un¬ 
feminine  folly  of  which  fashionable  society  showed  him 
many  samples.  Jo  knew  that  “  young  Laurence  ”  was 
regarded  as  a  most  eligible  parti  by  worldly  mammas, 
was  much  smiled  upon  by  their  daughters,  and  flattered 
enough  by  ladies  of  all  ages  to  make  a  coxcomb  of  him ; 
so  she  watched  him  rather  jealously,  fearing  he  would  be 
spoilt,  and  rejoiced  more  than  she  confessed  to  find  that 
he  still  believed  in  modest  girls.  Returning  suddenly  to 
her  admonitory  tone,  she  said,  dropping  her  voice,  “  If 
you  must  have  a  ‘  went,’  Teddy,  go  and  devote  yourself 
to  one  of  the  ‘  pretty,  modest  girls  ’  whom  you  do  re¬ 
spect,  and  not  waste  your  time  with  the  silly  ones.” 

“You  really  advise  it?”  and  Laurie  looked  at  her 
with  an  odd  mixture  of  anxiety  and  merriment  in  his 
face. 

“  Yes,  I  do  ;  but  you ’d  better  wait  till  you  are  through 
college,  on  the  whole,  and  be  fitting  yourself  for  the 
place  meantime.  You’re  not  half  good  enough  for  — 
well,  whoever  the  modest  girl  may  be,”  and  Jo  looked  a 
little  queer  likewise,  for  a  name  had  almost  escaped  her. 

“  That  I’m  not!  ”  acquiesced  Laurie,  with  an  expres¬ 
sion  of  humility  quite  new  to  him,  as  he  dropped  his 


412  Little  Women 

eyes,  and  absently  wound  Jo’s  apron-tassel  round  his 
finger. 

“  Mercy  on  us,  this  will  never  do,”  thought  Jo;  add¬ 
ing  aloud,  “  Go  and  sing  to  me.  I ’m  dying  for  some 
music,  and  always  like  yours.” 

“  I ’d  rather  stay  here,  thank  you.” 

“  Well,  you  can’t;  there  isn’t  room.  Go  and  make 
yourself  useful,  since  you  are  too  big  to  be  ornamental. 
I  thought  you  hated  to  be  tied  to  a  woman’s  apron¬ 
string?  ”  retorted  Jo,  quoting  certain  rebellious  words  of 
his  own. 

“  Ah,  that  depends  on  who  wears  the  apron  !  ”  and 
Laurie  gave  an  audacious  tweak  at  the  tassel. 

“Are  you  going?”  demanded  Jo,  diving  for  the 
pillow. 

He  fled  at  once,  and  the  minute  it  was  well  “  Up  with 
the  bonnets  of  bonnie  Dundee,”  she  slipped  away,  to 
return  no  more  till  the  young  gentleman  had  departed 
in  high  dudgeon. 

Jo  lay  long  awake  that  night,  and  was  just  dropping  off 
when  the  sound  of  a  stifled  sob  made  her  fly  to  Beth’s 
bedside,  with  the  anxious  inquiry,  “  What  is  it,  dear?” 

“  I  thought  you  were  asleep,”  sobbed  Beth. 

“  Is  it  the  old  pain,  my  precious?  ” 

“No;  it’s  a  new  one;  but  I  can  bear  it,”  and  Beth 
tried  to  check  her  tears. 

“  Tell  me  all  about  it,  and  let  me  cure  it  as  I  often  did 
the  other.” 

“You  can’t;  there  is  no  cure.”  There  Beth’s  voice 
gave  way,  and,  clinging  to  her  sister,  she  cried  so  des¬ 
pairingly  that  Jo  was  frightened. 

“Where  is  it?  Shall  I  call  mother?” 

Beth  did  not  answer  the  first  question ;  but  in  the 

dark  one  hand  went  involuntarily  to  her  heart,  as  if  the 


Tender  Troubles 


413 

pain  were  there;  with  the  other  she  held  Jo  fast,  whis¬ 
pering  eagerly,  “  No,  no,  don’t  call  her,  don’t  tell  her. 
I  shall  be  better  soon.  Lie  down  here  and  ‘  poor  ’  my 
head.  I  ’ll  be  quiet,  and  go  to  sleep  ;  indeed  I  will.” 

Jo  obeyed;  but  as  her  hand  went  softly  to  and  fro 
across  Beth’s  hot  forehead  and  wet  eyelids,  her  heart 
was  very  full,  and  she  longed  to  speak.  But  young  as 
she  was,  Jo  had  learned  that  hearts,  like  flowers,  cannot 
be  rudely  handled,  but  must  open  naturally;  so,  though 
she  believed  she  knew  the  cause  of  Beth’s  new  pain,  she 
only  said,  in  her  tenderest  tone,  “  Does  anything  trouble 
you,  deary?  ” 

“  Yes,  Jo,”  after  a  long  pause. 

“  Would  n’t  it  comfort  you  to  tell  me  what  it  is?  ” 

“  Not  now,  not  yet.” 

“Then  I  won’t  ask  ;  but  remember,  Bethy,  that  mother 
and  Jo  are  always  glad  to  hear  and  help  you,  if  they  can.” 

“  I  know  it.  I  ’ll  tell  you  by  and  by.” 

“  Is  the  pain  better  now?  ” 

“  Oh,  yes,  much  better;  you  are  so  comfortable,  Jo  !” 

“  Go  to  sleep,  dear;  I  ’ll  stay  with  you.” 

So  cheek  to  cheek  they  fell  asleep,  and  on  the  morrow 
Beth  seemed  quite  herself  again  ;  for  at  eighteen,  neither 
heads  nor  hearts  ache  long,  and  a  loving  word  can  med¬ 
icine  most  ills. 

But  Jo  had  made  up  her  mind,  and,  after  pondering 
over  a  project  for  some  days,  she  confided  it  to  her 
mother. 

“  You  asked  me  the  other  day  what  my  wishes  were. 
I  ’ll  tell  you  one  of  them,  Marmee,”  she  began,  as  they 
sat  alone  together.  “  I  want  to  go  away  somewhere  this 
winter  for  a  change.” 

“  Why,  Jo?  ”  and  her  mother  looked  up  quickly,  as  if 
the  words  suggested  a  double  meaning. 


Little  Women 


4*4 

With  her  eyes  on  her  work,  Jo  answered  soberly,  “  1 
want  something  new;  I  feel  restless,  and  anxious  to  be 
seeing,  doing,  and  learning  more  than  I  am.  I  brood  too 
much  over  my  own  small  affairs,  and  need  stirring  up,  so, 
as  I  can  be  spared  this  winter,  I  ’d  like  to  hop  a  little 
way,  and  try  my  wings.” 

“  Where  will  you  hop?  ” 

‘‘To  New  York.  I  had  a  bright  idea  yesterday,  and 
this  is  it.  You  know  Mrs.  Kirke  wrote  to  you  for  some 
respectable  young  person  to  teach  her  children  and  sew. 
It  ’s  rather  hard  to  find  just  the  thing,  but  I  think  I 
should  suit  if  I  tried.” 

“  My  dear,  go  out  to  service  in  that  great  boarding¬ 
house  !  ”  and  Mrs.  March  looked  surprised,  but  not  dis¬ 
pleased. 

“  It ’s  not  exactly  going  out  to  service  ;  for  Mrs.  Kirke 
is  your  friend,  —  the  kindest  soul  that  ever  lived, —  and 
would  make  things  pleasant  for  me,  I  know.  Her  family 
is  separate  from  the  rest,  and  no  one  knows  me  there. 
Don’t  care  if  they  do ;  it ’s  honest  work,  and  I  ’m  not 
ashamed  of  it.” 

“Nor  I;  but  your  writing?  ” 

“  All  the  better  for  the  change.  I  shall  see  and  hear 
new  things,  get  new  ideas,  and,  even  if  I  have  n’t  much 
time  there,  I  shall  bring  home  quantities  of  material  for 
my  rubbish.” 

“I  have  no  doubt  of  it;  but  are  these  your  only 
reasons  for  this  sudden  fancy?” 

“No,  mother.” 

“  May  I  know  the  others?  ” 

Jo  looked  up  and  Jo  looked  down,  then  said  slowly, 
with  sudden  color  in  her  cheeks,  “  It  may  be  vain  ana 
wrong  to  say  it,  but  —  I’m  afraid  —  Laurie  is  getting 
too  fond  of  me.” 


Tender  Troubles 


4i5 

“  Then  you  don’t  care  for  him  in  the  way  it  is  evident 
he  begins  to  care  for  you?”  and  Mrs.  March  looked 
anxious  as  she  put  the  question. 

“  Mercy,  no  !  I  love  the  dear  boy,  as  I  always  have, 
and  am  immensely  proud  of  him;  but  as  for  anything 
more,  it ’s  out  of  the  question.” 

“  I ’m  glad  of  that,  Jo.” 

“  Why,  please  ?  ” 

“  Because,  dear,  I  don’t  think  you  suited  to  one  another. 
As  friends  you  are  very  happy,  and  your  frequent  quarrels 
soon  blow  over;  but  I  fear  you  would  both  rebel  if 
you  were  mated  for  life.  You  are  too  much  alike  and 
too  fond  of  freedom,  not  to  mention  hot  tempers  and 
strong  wills,  to  get  on  happily  together,  in  a  relation 
which  needs  infinite  patience  and  forbearance,  as  well 
as  love.” 

“That’s  just  the  feeling  I  had,  though  I  could  n’t  ex¬ 
press  it.  I  ’m  glad  you  think  he  is  only  beginning  to 
care  for  me.  It  would  trouble  me  sadly  to  make  him 
unhappy;  for  I  could  n’t  fall  in  love  with  the  dear  old 
fellow  merely  out  of  gratitude,  could  I?” 

“  You  are  sure  of  his  feeling  for  you?  ” 

The  color  deepened  in  Jo’s  cheeks,  as  she  answered, 
with  the  look  of  mingled  pleasure,  pride,  and  pain  which 
young  girls  wear  when  speaking  of  first  lovers, — 

“  I ’m  afraid  it  is  so,  mother;  he  hasn’t  said  anything, 
but  he  looks  a  great  deal.  I  think  I  had  better  go  away 
before  it  comes  to  anything.” 

“  I  agree  with  you,  and  if  it  can  be  managed  you  shall 

__  >» 
g°- 

Jo  looked  relieved,  and,  after  a  pause,  said,  smiling, 
“  How  Mrs.  Moffat  would  wonder  at  your  want  of  man¬ 
agement,  if  she  knew;  and  how  she  will  rejoice  that 
Annie  still  may  hope.” 


Little  Women 


416 

“  Ah,  Jo,  mothers  may  differ  in  their  management,  but 
the  hope  is  the  same  in  all,  —  the  desire  to  see  their 
children  happy.  Meg  is  so,  and  I  am  content  with  her 
success.  You  I  leave  to  enjoy  your  liberty  till  you  tire 
of  it;  for  only  then  will  you  find  that  there  is  some¬ 
thing  sweeter.  Amy  is  my  chief  care  now,  but  her 
good  sense  will  help  her.  For  Beth,  I  indulge  no  hopes 
except  that  she  may  be  well.  By  the  way,  she  seems 
brighter  this  last  day  or  two.  Have  you  spoken  to 
her  ?  ” 

“  Yes;  she  owned  she  had  a  trouble,  and  promised  to 
tell  me  by  and  by.  I  said  no  more,  for  I  think  I  know 
it;  ”  and  Jo  told  her  little  story.. 

Mrs.  March  shook  her  head,  and  did  not  take  so 
romantic  a  view  of  the  case,  but  looked  grave,  and 
repeated  her  opinion  that,  for  Laurie’s  sake,  Jo  should 
go  away  for  a  time. 

“  Let  us  say  nothing  about  it  to  him  till  the  plan  is 
settled ;  then  I  ’ll  run  away  before  he  can  collect  his  wits 
and  be  tragical.  Beth  must  think  I  ’m  going  to  please 
myself,  as  I  am,  for  I  can’t  talk  about  Laurie  to  her ;  but 
she  can  pet  and  comfort  him  after  I ’m  gone,  and  so  cure 
him  of  this  romantic  notion.  He ’s  been  through  so 
many  little  trials  of  the  sort,  he ’s  used  to  it,  and  will 
soon  get  over  his  love-lornity.” 

Jo  spoke  hopefully,  but  could  not  rid  herself  of  the 
foreboding  fear  that  this  “  little  trial  ”  would  be  harder 
than  the  others,  and  that  Laurie  would  not  get  over  his 
“  love-lornity  ”  as  easily  as  heretofore. 

The  plan  was  talked  over  in  a  family  council,  and  agreed 
upon;  for  Mrs.  Kirke  gladly  accepted  Jo,  and  promised 
to  make  a  pleasant  home  for  her.  The  teaching  would 
render  her  independent;  and  such  leisure  as  she  got 
might  be  made  profitable  by  writing,  while  the  new  scenes 


Tender  Troubles 


4i7 

and  society  would  be  both  useful  and  agreeable.  Jo  liked 
the  prospect  and  was  eager  to  be  gone,  for  the  home-nest 
was  growing  too  narrow  for  her  restless  nature  and  adven¬ 
turous  spirit.  When  all  was  settled,  with  fear  and  trem¬ 
bling  she  told  Laurie  ;  but  to  her  surprise  he  took  it  very 
quietly.  He  had  been  graver  than  usual  of  late,  but  very 
pleasant;  and,  when  jokingly  accused  of  turning  over  a 
new  leaf,  he  answered  soberly,  “  So  I  am ;  and  I  mean 
this  one  shall  stay  turned.” 

Jo  was  very  much  relieved  that  one  of  his  virtuous  fits 
should  come  on  just  then,  and  made  her  preparations 
with  a  lightened  heart,  —  for  Beth  seemed  more  cheer¬ 
ful, —  and  hoped  she  was  doing  the  best  for  all. 

“  One  thing  I  leave  to  your  especial  care,”  she  said, 
the  night  before  she  left. 

“  You  mean  your  papers?”  asked  Beth. 

“  No,  my  boy.  Be  very  good  to  him,  won’t  you?  ” 

“  Of  course  I  will ;  but  I  can’t  fill  your  place,  and  he  ’ll 
miss  you  sadly.” 

“  It  won’t  hurt  him  ;  so  remember,  I  leave  him  in  your 
charge,  to  plague,  pet,  and  keep  in  order.” 

“  I  ’ll  do  my  best,  for  your  sake,”  promised  Beth,  won¬ 
dering  why  Jo  looked  at  her  so  queerly. 

When  Laurie  said  “  Good-by,”  he  whispered  signifi¬ 
cantly,  “  It  won’t  do  a  bit  of  good,  Jo.  My  eye  is  on 
you ;  so  mind  what  you  do,  or  I  ’ll  come  and  bring  you 
home.” 


Little  Women 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 


<< 


D 


JO  S  JOURNAL 

“  New  York,  November. 

EAR  MARMEE  AND  BETH,— 


“  I  ’m  going  to  write  you  a  regular  volume, 
for  I ’ve  got  heaps  to  tell,  though  I  ’m  not  a 
fine  young  lady  travelling  on  the  continent.  When  I 
lost  sight  of  father’s  dear  old  face,  I  felt  a  trifle  blue,  and 
might  have  shed  a  briny  drop  or  two,  if  an  Irish  lady 
with  four  small  children,  all  crying  more  or  less,  had  n’t 
diverted  my  mind ;  for  I  amused  myself  by  dropping 
gingerbread  nuts  over  the  seat  every  time  they  opened 
their  mouths  to  roar. 

“  Soon  the  sun  came  out,  and  taking  it  as  a  good 
omen,  I  cleared  up  likewise,  and  enjoyed  my  journey 
with  all  my  heart. 

“  Mrs.  Kirke  welcomed  me  so  kindly  I  felt  at  home  at 
once,  even  in  that  big  house  full  of  strangers.  She  gave 
me  a  funny  little  sky-parlor- — all  she  had;  but  there  is 
a  stove  in  it,  and  a  nice  table  in  a  sunny  window,  so  I 
can  sit  here  and  write  whenever  I  like.  A  fine  view  and 
a  church-tower  opposite  atone  for  the  many  stairs,  and  I 
took  a  fancy  to  my  den  on  the  spot.  The  nursery, 
where  I  am  to  teach  and  sew,  is  a  pleasant  room  next 
Mrs.  Kirke’s  private  parlor,  and  the  two  little  girls  are 
pretty  children,  —  rather  spoilt,  I  fancy,  but  they  tool< 
to  me  after  telling  them  ‘  The  Seven  Bad  Pigs ;  ’  anc 
I ’ve  no  doubt  I  shall  make  a  model  governess. 

“  I  am  to  have  my  meals  with  the  children,  if  I  prefer 
it  to  the  great  table,  and  for  the  present  I  do,  for  I  am 
bashful,  though  no  one  will  believe  it. 


Jo’s  Journal  419 

“'Now,  my  dear,  make  yourself  at  home,’  said  Mrs. 
K.  in  her  motherly  way;  ‘  I  ’m  on  the  drive  from  morn¬ 
ing  to  night,  as  you  may  suppose  with  such  a  family; 
but  a  great  anxiety  will  be  off  my  mind  if  I  know  the 
children  are  safe  with  you.  My  rooms  are  always  open 
to  you,  and  your  own  shall  be  as  comfortable  as  I  can 
make  it.  There  are  some  pleasant  people  in  the  house 
if  you  feel  sociable,  and  your  evenings  are  always  free. 
Come  to  me  if  anything  goes  wrong,  and  be  as  happy  as 
you  can.  There’s  the  tea-bell;  I  must  run  and  change 
my  cap ;  ’  and  off  she  bustled,  leaving  me  to  settle  my¬ 
self  in  my  new  nest. 

“  As  I  went  downstairs,  soon  after,  I  saw  something  I 
liked.  The  fl  ights  are  very  long  in  this  tall  house,  and 
as  I  stood  waiting  at  the  head  of  the  third  one  for  a 
little  servant  girl  to  lumber  up,  I  saw  a  gentleman  come 
along  behind  her,  take  the  heavy  hod  of  coal  out  of 
her  hand,  carry  it  all  the  way  up,  put  it  down  at  a  door 
near  by,  and  walk  away,  saying,  with  a  kind  nod  and  a 
foreign  accent,  — - 

“  ‘  It  goes  better  so.  The  little  back  is  too  young  to 
haf  such  heaviness.’ 

“Wasn’t  it  good  of  him?  I  like  such  things,  for,  as 
father  says,  trifles  show  character.  When  I  mentioned 
it  to  Mrs.  K.,  that  evening,  she  laughed,  and  said, — 

“  ‘  That  must  have  been  Professor  Bhaer ;  he ’s  always 
doing  things  of  that  sort.’ 

“  Mrs.  K.  told  me  he  was  from  Berlin ;  very  learned 
and  good,  but  poor  as  a  church-mouse,  and  gives  lessons 
to  support  himself  and  two  little  orphan  nephews  whom 
he  is  educating  here,  according  to  the  wishes  of  his  sister, 
who  married  an  American.  Not  a  very  romantic  story, 
but  it  interested  me;  and  I  was  glad  to  hear  that  Mrs. 
K.  lends  him  her  parlor  for  some  of  his  scholars.  There 


Little  Women 


420 

is  a  glass  door  between  it  and  the  nursery,  and  I  mean 
to  peep  at  him,  and  then  I  ’ll  tell  you  how  he  looks. 
He ’s  almost  forty,  so  it ’s  no  harm,  Marmee. 

“  After  tea  and  a  go-to-bed  romp  with  the  little  girls, 
I  attacked  the  big  work-basket,  and  had  a  quiet  evening 
chatting  with  my  new  friend.  I  shall  keep  a  journal- 
letter,  and  send  it  once  a  week;  so  good-night,  and 
more  to-morrow.” 

“  Tuesday  Eve. 

“  Had  a  lively  time  in  my  seminary,  this  morning,  for 
the  children  acted  like  Sancho ;  and  at  one  time  I  really 
thought  I  should  shake  them  all  round.  Some  good 
angel  inspired  me  to  try  gymnastics,  and  I  kept  it  up  till 
they  were  glad  to  sit  down  and  keep  still.  After  lunch¬ 
eon,  the  girl  took  them  out  for  a  walk,  and  I  went  to  my 
needle-work,  like  little  Mabel,  ‘  with  a  willing  mind.’  I 
was  thanking  my  stars  that  I ’d  learned  to  make  nice 
button-holes,  when  the  parlor-door  opened  and  shut, 
and  some  one  began  to  hum,  — - 

‘  Kennst  du  das  Land,  ’ 

iike  a  big  bumble-bee.  It  was  dreadfully  improper,  I 
know,  but  I  could  n’t  resist  the  temptation;  and  lifting 
one  end  of  the  curtain  before  the  glass  door,  I  peeped 
in.  Professor  Bhaer  was  there ;  and  while  he  arranged 
his  books,  I  took  a  good  look  at  him.  A  regular  Ger¬ 
man, —  rather  stout,  with  brown  hair  tumbled  all  over 
his  head,  a  bushy  beard,  good  nose,  the  kindest  eyes  I 
ever  saw,  and  a  splendid  big  voice  that  does  one’s  ears 
good,  after  our  sharp  or  slipshod  American  gabble. 
His  clothes  were  rusty,  his  hands  were  large,  and  he 
hadn’t  a  really  handsome  feature  in  his  face,  except  his 
beautiful  teeth ;  yet  I  liked  him,  for  he  had  a  fine  head ; 
his  linen  was  very  nice,  and  he  looked  like  a  gentleman. 


Jo's  Journal  421 

though  two  buttons  were  off  his  coat,  and  there  was  a 
patch  on  one  shoe.  He  looked  sober  in  spite  of  his 
humming,  till  he  went  to  the  window  to  turn  the  hya¬ 
cinth  bulbs  toward  the  sun,  and  stroke  the  cat,  who  re¬ 
ceived  him  like  an  old  friend.  Then  he  smiled  ;  and  when 
a  tap  came  at  the  door,  called  out  in  a  loud,  brisk  tone,  — - 

“  ‘  Herein  !  ’ 

“I  was  just  going  to  run,  when  I  caught  sight  of  a 
morsel  of  a  child  carrying  a  big  book,  and  stopped  to  see 
what  was  going  on. 

“  ‘  Me  wants  my  Bhaer/  said  the  mite,  slamming  down 
her  book,  and  running  to  meet  him. 

“‘Thou  shalt  haf  thy  Bhaer;  come,  then,  and  take  a 
goot  hug  from  him,  my  Tina/  said  the  Professor,  catch¬ 
ing  her  up,  with  a  laugh,  and  holding  her  so  high  over 
his  head  that  she  had  to  stoop  her  little  face  to  kiss  him. 

“  ‘  Now  me  mus  tuddy  my  lessin/  went  on  the  funny 
little  thing;  so  he  put  her  up  at  the  table,  opened  the 
great  dictionary  she  had  brought,  and  gave  her  a  paper 
and  pencil,  and  she  scribbled  away,  turning  a  leaf  now 
and  then,  and  passing  her  little  fat  finger  down  the  page, 
as  if  finding  a  word,  so  soberly  that  I  nearly  betrayed 
myself  by  a  laugh,  while  Mr.  Bhaer  stood  stroking  her 
pretty  hair,  with  a  fatherly  look,  that  made  me  think  she 
must  be  his  own,  though  she  looked  more  French  than 
German. 

“  Another  knock  and  the  appearance  of  two  young 
ladies  sent  me  back  to  my  work,  and  there  I  virtuously 
remained  through  all  the  noise  and  gabbling  that  went  on 
next  door.  One  of  the  girls  kept  laughing  affectedly, 
and  saying  ‘Now  Professor/  in  a  coquettish  tone,  and 
the  other  pronounced  her  German  with  an  accent  that 
must  have  made  it  hard  for  him  to  keep  sober. 
“Both  seemed  to  try  his  patience  sorely;  for  more 


Little  Women 


4-2  2 

than  once  I  heard  him  say  emphatically,  ‘No,  no,  it  is 
not  so  ;  you  haf  not  attend  to  what  I  say  ;  and  once  there 
was  a  loud  rap,  as  if  he  struck  the  table  with  his  book, 
followed  by  the  despairing  exclamation,  ‘  Prut !  it  all 
goes  bad  this  day/ 

“  Poor  man,  I  pitied  him ;  and  when  the  girls  were 
gone,  took  just  one  more  peep,  to  see  if  he  survived  it. 
He  seemed  to  have  thrown  himself  back  in  his  chair, 
tired  out,  and  sat  there  with  his  eyes  shut  till  the  clock 
struck  two,  when  he  jumped  up,  put  his  books  in  his 
pocket,  as  if  ready  for  another  lesson,  and,  taking  little 
Tina,  who  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  sofa,  in  his  ’arms,  he 
carried  her  quietly  away.  I  fancy  he  has  a  hard  life  of  it. 

“  Mrs.  Kirke  asked  me  if  I  would  n’t  go  down  to  the 
five  o’clock  dinner;  and,  feeling  a  little  bit  homesick,  I 
thought  I  would,  just  to  see  what  sort  of  people  are  under 
the  same  roof  with  me.  So  I  made  myself  respectable, 
and  tried  to  slip  in  behind  Mrs.  Kirke ;  but  as  she  is 
short,  and  I ’m  tall,  my  efforts  at  concealment  were  rather 
a  failure.  She  gave  me  a  seat  by  her,  and  after  my  face 
cooled  off,  I  plucked  up  courage,  and  looked  about  me. 
The  long  table  was  full,  and  every  one  intent  on  getting 
their  dinner,  —  the  gentlemen  especially,  who  seemed  to 
be  eating  on  time,  for  they  bolted  in  every  sense  of  the 
word,  vanishing  as  soon  as  they  were  done.  There  was 
the  usual  assortment  of  young  men  absorbed  in  them¬ 
selves ;  young  couples  absorbed  in  each  other;  married 
ladies  in  their  babies,  and  old  gentlemen  in  politics.  I 
don’t  think  I  shall  care  to  have  much  to  do  with  any  of 
them,  except  one  sweet-faced  maiden  lady,  who  looks 
as  if  she  had  something  in  her. 

“  Cast  away  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  table  was  the 
Professor,  shouting  answers  to  the  questions  of  a  very 
inquisitive,  deaf  old  gentleman  on  one  side,  and  talking 


Jo’s  Journal  4.23 

philosophy  with  a  Frenchman  on  the  other.  If  Amy 
had  been  here,  she  ’d  have  turned  her  back  on  him 
forever,  because,  sad  to  relate,  he  had  a  great  appetite, 
and  shovelled  in  his  dinner  in  a  manner  which  would 
have  horrified  ‘  her  ladyship.’  I  did  n’t  mind,  for  I  like 
‘to  see  folks  eat  with  a  relish,’  as  Hannah  says,  and 
the  poor  man  must  have  needed  a  deal  of  food  after 
teaching  idiots  all  day. 

“As  I  went  upstairs  after  dinner,  two  of  the  young 
men  were  settling  their  hats  before  the  hall-mirror, 
and  I  heard  one  say  low  to  the  other,  ‘'Who ’s  the 
new  party?  ’ 

“  ‘  Governess,  or  something  of  that  sort.’ 

“  ‘  What  the  deuce  is  she  at  our  table  for?  * 

“  ‘  Friend  of  the  old  lady’s.’ 

“  *  Handsome  head,  but  no  style.’ 

“  ‘  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Give  us  a  light  and  come  on.’ 

“  I  felt  angry  at  first,  and  then  I  did  n’t  care,  for  a 
governess  is*  as  good  as  a  clerk,  and  I ’ve  got  sense,  if  I 
have  n’t  style,  which  is  more  than  some  people  have, 
judging  from  the  remarks  of  the  elegant  beings  who 
clattered  away,  smoking  like  bad  chimneys.  I  hate 
ordinary  people  !  ” 

“  Thursday. 

“Yesterday  was  a  quiet  day,  spent  in  teaching,  sew¬ 
ing,  and  writing  in  my  little  room,  which  is  very  cosey, 
with  a  light  and  fire.  I  picked  up  a  few  bits  of  news, 
and  was  introduced  to  the  Professor.  It  seems  that 
Tina  is  the  child  of  the  Frenchwoman  who  does  the  fine 
ironing  in  the  laundry  here.  The  little  thing  has  lost 
her  heart  to  Mr.  Bhaer,  and  follows  him  about  the  house 
like  a  dog  whenever  he  is  at  home,  which  delights  him, 
as  he  is  very  fond  of  children,  though  a  ‘  bacheldore.' 
Kitty  and  Minnie  Kirke  likewise  regard  him  with  affec 


Little  Women 


424 

tion,  and  tell  all  sorts  of  stories  about  the  plays  he 
invents,  the  presents  he  brings,  and  the  splendid  tales 
he  tells.  The  young  men  quiz  him,  it  seems,  call  him 
Old  Fritz,  Lager  Beer,  Ursa  Major,  and  make  all  man¬ 
ner  of  jokes  on  his  name.  But  he  enjoys  it  like  a  boy, 
Mrs.  K.  says,  and  takes  it  so  good-naturedly  that  they 
all  like  him,  in  spite  of  his  foreign  ways. 

“  The  maiden  lady  is  a  Miss  Norton,  —  rich,  culti¬ 
vated,  and  kind.  She  spoke  to  me  at  dinner  to-day  (for 
I  went  to  table  again,  it ’s  such  fun  to  watch  people), 
and  asked  me  to  come  and  see  her  at  her  room.  She 
has  fine  books  and  pictures,  knows  interesting  persons, 
and  seems  friendly ;  so  I  shall  make  myself  agreeable, 
for  I  do  want  to  get  into  good  society,  only  it  is  n’t  the 
same  sort  that  Amy  likes. 

“  I  was  in  our  parlor  last  evening,  when  Mr.  Bhaer 
came  in  with  some  newspapers  for  Mrs.  Kirke.  She 
wasn’t  there,  but  Minnie,  who  is  a  little  old  woman, 
introduced  me  very  prettily :  4  This  is  mamma’s  friend, 
Miss  March.’ 

“‘Yes;  and  she’s  jolly  and  we  like  her  lots,’  added 
Kitty,  who  is  an  enfant  terrible . 

“  We  both  bowed,  and  then  we  laughed,  for  the  prim 
introduction  and  the  blunt  addition  were  rather  a  comi¬ 
cal  contrast. 

“  ‘  Ah,  yes,  I  hear  these  naughty  ones  go  to  vex  you, 
Mees  MarscL  If  so  again,  call  at  me  and  I  come,’  he 
said,  with  a  threatening  frown  that  delighted  the  little 
wretches. 

“  I  promised  I  would,  and  he  departed ;  but  it  seems 
as  if  I  was  doomed  to  see  a  good  deal  of  him,  for  to¬ 
day,  as  I  passed  his  door  on  my  way  out,  by  accident  I 
knocked  against  it  with  my  umbrella.  It  flew  open,  and 
there  he  stood  in  his  dressing  gown,  with  a  big  blue 


Jo’s  Journal  425 

*  sock  on  one  hand,  and  a  darning-needle  in  the  other;  he 
did  n’t  seem  at  all  ashamed  of  it,  for  when  I  explained 
and  hurried  on,  he  waved  his  hand,  sock  and  all,  saying 
in  his  loud,  cheerful  way,  — 

“  ‘  You  haf  a  fine  day  to  make  your  walk.  Bon 
voyage ,  mademoiselle .’ 

“  I  laughed  all  the  way  downstairs ;  but  it  was  a  little 
pathetic,  also,  to  think  of  the  poor  man  having  to  mend 
his  own  clothes.  The  German  gentlemen  embroider,  I 
know;  but  darning  hose  is  another  thing,  and  not  so 
pretty.” 

“  Saturday. 

“  Nothing  has  happened  to  write  about,  except  a  call 
on  Miss  Norton,  who  has  a  room  full  of  lovely  things, 
and  who  was  very  charming,  for  she  showed  me  all  her 
treasures,  and  asked  me  if  I  would  sometimes  go  with 
her  to  lectures  and  concerts,  as  her  escort,  —  if  I  en¬ 
joyed  them.  She  put  it  as  a  favor,  but  I ’m  sure  Mrs. 
Kirke  has  told  her  about  us,  and  she  does  it  out  of 
kindness  to  me.  I ’m  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  but  such 
favors  from  such  people  don’t  burden  me,  and  I  ac¬ 
cepted  gratefully. 

“  When  I  got  back  to  the  nursery  there  was  such  an 
uproar  in  the  parlor  that  I  looked  in ;  and  there  was 
Mr.  Bhaer  down  on  his  hands  and  knees,  with  Tina 
on  his  back,  Kitty  leading  him  with  a  jump-rope,  and 
Minnie  feeding  two  small  boys  with  seed-cakes,  as  they 
roared  and  ramped  in  cages  built  of  chairs. 

“‘We  are  playing  nargerie /  explained  Kitty. 

“  ‘  Dis  is  mine  effalunt !  ’  added  Tina,  holding  on  by 
the  Professor’s  hair. 

“  ‘  Mamma  always  allows  us  to  do  what  we  like  Satur¬ 
day  afternoon,  when  Franz  and  Emil  come,  does  n’t  she, 
Mr.  Bhaer?’  said  Minnie. 


Little  Women 


426 

“  The  ‘  effalunt  ’  sat  up,  looking  as  much  in  earnest  as 
any  of  them,  and  said  soberly  to  me,  — 

“  ‘  I  gif  you  my  wort  it  is  so.  If  we  make  too  large 
a  noise  you  shall  say  “  Hush  !  ”  to  us,  and  we  go  more 
softly.’ 

“  I  promised  to  do  so,  but  left  the  door  open,  and 
enjoyed  the  fun  as  much  as  they  did,  —  for  a  more 
glorious  frolic  I  never  witnessed.  I  hey  played  tag  and 
soldiers,  danced  and  sung,  and  when  it  began  to  grow 
dark  they  all  piled  on  to  the  sofa  about  the  Professor, 
while  he  told  charming  fairy  stories  of  the  storks  on  the 
chimney-tops,  and  the  little  ‘  kobolds,’  who  ride  the 
snow-flakes  as  they  fall.  I  wish  Americans  were  as 
simple  and  natural  as  Germans,  don’t  you? 

“  I ’m  so  fond  of  writing,  I  should  go  spinning  on 
forever  it  motives  of  economy  did  n’t  stop  me ;  for 
though  I ’ve  used  thin  paper  and  written  fine,  I  tremble 
to  think  of  the  stamps  this  long  letter  will  need.  Pray 
forward  Amy’s  as  soon  as  you  can  spare  them.  My 
small  news  will  sound  very  flat  after  her  splendors,  but 
you  will  like  them,  I  know.  Is  Teddy  studying  so  hard 
that  he  can’t  find  time  to  write  to  his  friends?  Take 
good  care  of  him  for  me,  Beth,  and  tell  me  all  about 
the  babies,  and  give  heaps  of  love  to  every  one. 

“  From  your  faithful  Jo. 

“  P.  S.  On  reading  over  my  letter  it  strikes  me  as 
rather  Bhaery ;  but  I  am  always  interested  in  odd  peo¬ 
ple,  and  I  really  had  nothing  else  to  write  about. 
Bless  you  !  ” 

“  December. 

“  My  Precious  Betsey,  — 

“  As  this  is  to  be  a  scribble-scrabble  letter,  I  direct  it 
to  you,  for  it  may  amuse  you,  and  give  you  some  idea  of 
my  goings  on ;  for,  though  quiet,  they  are  rather  amus- 


Jo’s  Journal  427 

ing,  for  which,  oh,  be  joyful !  After  what  Amy  would 
call  Herculaneum  efforts,  in  the  way  of  mental  and 
moral  agriculture,  my  young  ideas  begin  to  shoot  and 
my  little  twigs  to  bend  as  I  could  wish.  They  are  not 
so  interesting  to  me  as  Tina  and  the  boys,  but  I  do  my 
duty  by  them,  and  they  are  fond  of  me.  Franz  and 
Emil  are  jolly  little  lads,  quite  after  my  own  heart;  for 
the  mixture  of  German  and  American  spirit  in  them 
produces  a  constant  state  of  effervescence.  Saturday 
afternoons  are  riotous  times,  whether  spent  in  the  house 
or  out;  for  on  pleasant  days  they  all  go  to  walk,  like  a 
seminary,  with  the  Professor  and  myself  to  keep  order ; 
and  then  such  fun  ! 

“  We  are  very  good  friends  now,  and  I  Ve  begun  to 
take  lessons.  I  really  could  n’t  help  it,  and  it  all  came 
about  in  such  a  droll  way  that  I  must  tell  you.  To 
begin  at  the  beginning,  Mrs.  Ivirke  called  to  me,  one  day, 
as  I  passed  Mr.  Bhaer’s  room,  where  she  was  rummaging. 

“  ‘  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  den,  my  dear?  Just  come 
and  help  me  put  these  books  to  rights,  for  I  ’ve  turned 
everything  upside  down,  trying  to  discover  what  he  has 
done  with  the  six  new  handkerchiefs  I  gave  him  not 
long  ago.’ 

“  I  went  in,  and  while  we  worked  I  looked  about  me, 
for  it  was  ‘  a  den,’  to  be  sure.  Books  and  papers  every¬ 
where  ;  a  broken  meerschaum,  and  an  old  flute  over  the 
mantel-piece  as  if  done  with ;  a  ragged  bird,  without  any 
tail,  chirped  on  one  window-seat,  and  a  box  of  white 
mice  adorned  the  other;  half-finished  boats  and  bits  of 
string  lay  among  the  manuscripts  ;  dirty  little  boots  stood 
drying  before  the  fire  ;  and  traces  of  the  dearly  beloved 
boys,  for  whom  he  makes  a  slave  of  himself,  were  to  be 
seen  all  over  the  room.  After  a  grand  rummage  three 
of  the  missing  articles  were  found,  —  one  over  the  bird- 


Little  Women 


428 

cage,  one  covered  with  ink,  and  a  third  burnt  brown, 
having  been  used  as  a  holder. 

“  ‘  Such  a  man  !  ’  laughed  good-natured  Mrs.  K.,  as 
she  put  the  relics  in  the  rag-bag.  ‘  I  suppose  the  others 
are  torn  up  to  rig  ships,  bandage  cut  fingers,  or  make 
kite-tails.  It’s  dreadful,  but  I  can’t  scold  him  :  he  ’s  so 
absent-minded  and  good-natured,  he  lets  those  boys  ride 
over  him  rough-shod.  I  agreed  to  do  his  washing  and 
mending,  but  he  forgets  to  give  out  his  things  and  I  for¬ 
get  to  look  them  over,  so  he  comes  to  a  sad  pass  some¬ 
times.’ 

“  ‘  Let  me  mend  them,’  said  I.  ‘  I  don’t  mind  it,  and 
he  needn’t  know.  I’d  like  to, —  he’s  so  kind  to  me 
about  bringing  my  letters  and  lending  books.’ 

“  So  I  have  got  his  things  in  order,  and  knit  heels 
into  two  pairs  of  the  socks,  —  for  they  were  boggled  out 
of  shape  with  his  queer  darns.  Nothing  was  said,  and  I 
hoped  he  would  n’t  find  it  out,  but  one  day  last  week  he 
caught  me  at  it.  Hearing  the  lessons  he  gives  to  others 
has  interested  and  amused  me  so  much  that  I  took  a 
fancy  to  learn  ;  for  Tina  runs  in  and  out,  leaving  the 
door  open,  and  I  can  hear.  I  had  been  sitting  near  this 
door,  finishing  off  the  last  sock,  and  trying  to  under¬ 
stand  what  he  said  to  a  new  scholar,  who  is  as  stupid  as 
I  am.  The  girl  had  gone,  and  I  thought  he  had  also, 
it  was  so  still,  and  I  was  busily  gabbling  over  a  verb,  and 
rocking  to  and  fro  in  a  most  absurd  way,  when  a  little 
crow  made  me  look  up,  and  there  was  Mr.  Bhaer  look¬ 
ing  and  laughing  quietly,  while  he  made  signs  to  1  ina 
not  to  betray  him. 

“  ‘  So  !  ’  he  said,  as  I  stopped  and  stared  like  a  goose, 
‘you  peep  at  me,  I  peep  at  you,  and  that  is  not  bad; 
but  see,  I  am  not  pleasanting  when  I  say,  haf  you  a  wish 
for  German  ?  ’ 


Jo’s  Journal  429 

1 

“  *  Yes ;  but  you  are  too  busy.  I  am  too  stupid  to 
learn,’  I  blundered  out,  as  red  as  a  peony. 

“  ‘  Prut !  we  will  make  the  time,  and  we  fail  not  to  find 
the  sense.  At  efening  I  shall  gif  a  little  lesson  with 
much  gladness ;  for,  look  you,  Mees  Marsch,  I  haf  this 
debt  to  pay,’  and  he  pointed  to  my  work.  ‘  “  Yes,”  they 
say  to  one  another,  these  so  kind  ladies,  “  he  is  a  stupid 
old  fellow ;  he  will  see  not  what  we  do ;  he  will  never 
opserve  that  his  sock-heels  go  not  in  holes  any  more, 
he  will  think  his  buttons  grow  out  new  when  they  fall, 
and  believe  that  strings  make  theirselves.”  Ah  !  but  I 
haf  an  eye,  and  I  see  much.  I  haf  a  heart,  and  I  feel 
the  thanks  for  this.  Come,  a  little  lesson  then  and  now, 
or  no  more  good  fairy  works  for  me  and  mine.’ 

“  Of  course  I  could  n ’t  say  anything  after  that,  and  as 
it  really  is  a  splendid  opportunity,  I  made  the  bargain, 
and  we  began.  I  took  four  lessons,  and  then  I  stuck 
fast  in  a  grammatical  bog.  The  Professor  was  very 
patient  with  me,  but  it  must  have  been  torment  to  him, 
and  now  and  then  he ’d  look  at  me  with  such  an  expres¬ 
sion  of  mild  despair  that  it  was  a  toss-up  with  me 
whether  to  laugh  or  cry.  I  tried  both  ways  ;  and  when 
it  came  to  a  sniff  of  utter  mortification  and  woe,  he  just 
threw  the  grammar  on  to  the  floor,  and  marched  out  of 
the  room.  I  felt  myself  disgraced  and  deserted  forever, 
but  did  n’t  blame  him  a  particle,  and  was  scrambling 
my  papers  together,  meaning  to  rush  upstairs  and  shake 
myself  hard,  when  in  he  came,  as  brisk  and  beaming  as 
if  I ’d  covered  myself  with  glory. 

“  ‘Now we  shall  try  a  new  way.  You  and  I  will  read 
these  pleasant  little  Marchen  together,  and  dig  no  more 
in  that  dry  book,  that  goes  in  the  corner  for  making  us 
trouble.’ 

f<  He  spoke  sq  kindly,  and  opened  Hans  Andersen’s 


Little  Women 


43° 

fairy  tales  so  invitingly  before  me,  that  I  was  more 
ashamed  than  ever,  and  went  at  my  lesson  in  a  neck-or- 
nothing  style  that  seemed  to  amuse  him  immensely.  I 
forgot  my  bashfulness,  and  pegged  away  (no  other  word 
will  express  it)  with  all  my  might,  tumbling  over  long 
words,  pronouncing  according  to  the  inspiration  of  the 
minute,  and  doing  my  very  best.  When  I  finished  read¬ 
ing  my  first  page,  and  stopped  for  breath,  he  clapped 
his  hands  and  cried  out,  in  his  hearty  way,  ‘  Das  ist  gut ! 
Now  we  go  well !  My  turn.  I  do  him  in  German  ;  gif 
me  your  ear.’  And  away  he  went,  rumbling  out  the 
words  with  his  strong  voice,  and  a  relish  which  was 
good  to  see  as  well  as  hear.  Fortunately  the  story 
was  the  ‘  Constant  Tin  Soldier,’  which  is  droll,  you 
know,  so  I  could  laugh,  —  and  I  did,  —  though  I  did  n’t 
understand  half  he  read,  for  I  could  n’t  help  it,  he 
was  so  earnest,  I  so  excited,  and  the  whole  thing  so 
comical. 

“  After  that  we  got  on  better,  and  now  I  read  my  les¬ 
sons  pretty  well ;  for  this  way  of  studying  suits  me,  and 
I  can  see  that  the  grammar  gets  tucked  into  the  tales 
and  poetry  as  one  gives  pills  in  jelly.  I  like  it  very 
much,  and  he  does  n’t  seem  tired  of  it  yet,  —  which  is 
very  good  of  him,  is  n’t  it?  I  mean  to  give  him  some¬ 
thing  on  Christmas,  for  I  dare  not  offer  money.  Tell 
me  something  nice,  Marmee. 

“  I  ’m  glad  Laurie  seems  so  happy  and  busy,  that  he 
has  given  up  smoking,  and  lets  his  hair  grow.  You  see 
Beth  manages  him  better  than  I  did.  I ’m  not  jealous, 
dear  ;  do  your  best,  only  don’t  make  a  saint  of  him. 
I  ’m  afraid  I  could  n’t  like  him  without  a  spice  of  human 
naughtiness.  Read  him  bits  of  my  letters.  I  have  n’t 
time  to  write  much,  and  that  will  do  just  as  well. 
Thank  Heaven  Beth  continues  so  comfortable.” 


Jo’s  Journal 


431 

“  January. 

“A  Happy  New  Year  to  you  all,  my  dearest  family, 
which  of  course  includes  Mr.  L.  and  a  young  man  by 
the  name  of  Teddy.  I  can’t  tell  you  how  much  I 
enjoyed  your  Christmas  bundle,  for  I  didn’t  get  it  till 
night,  and  had  given  up  hoping.  Your  letter  came  in 
the  morning,  but  you  said  nothing  about  a  parcel,  mean¬ 
ing  it  for  a  surprise;  so  I  was  disappointed,  for  I ’d  had 
a  4  kind  of  a  feeling  ’  that  you  would  n’t  forget  me.  I 
felt  a  little  low  in  my  mind,  as  I  sat  up  in  my  room, 
after  tea;  and  when  the  big,  muddy,  battered-looking 
bundle  was  brought  to  me,  I  just  hugged  it,  and  pranced. 
It  was  so  homey  and  refreshing,  that  I  sat  down  on  the 
floor  and  read  and  looked  and  ate  and  laughed  and 
cried,  in  my  usual  absurd  way.  The  things  were  just 
what  I  wanted,  and  all  the  better  for  being  made  instead 
of  bought.  Beth’s  new  4  ink-bib  ’  was  capital;  and  Han¬ 
nah’s  box  of  hard  ginger-bread  will  be  a  treasure.  I  ’ll 
be  sure  and  wear  the  nice  flannels  you  sent,  Marmee, 
and  read  carefully  the  books  father  has  marked.  Thank 
you  all,  heaps  and  heaps ! 

44  Speaking  of  books  reminds  me  that  I ’m  getting 
rich  in  that  line,  for,  on  New  Year’s  day,  Mr.  Bhaer 
gave  me  a  fine  Shakespeare.  It  is  one  he  values  much, 
and  I  Ve  often  admired  it,  set  up  in  the  place  of  honor, 
with  his  German  Bible,  Plato,  Homer,  and  Milton;  so 
you  may  imagine  how  I  felt  when  he  brought  it  down, 
without  its  cover,  and  showed  me  my  name  in  it,  4  from 
my  friend  Friedrich  Bhaer.’ 

‘‘‘You  say  often  you  wish  a  library:  here  I  gif  you 
one ;  for  between  these  lids  (he  meant  covers),  is  many 
books  in  one.  Read  him  well,  and  he  will  help  you 
much  ;  for  the  study  of  character  in  this  book  will  help 
you  to  read  it  in  the  world  and  paint  it  with  your  pen.' 


Little  Women 


43  2 


“  I  thanked  him  as  well  as  I  could,  and  talk  now  about 
‘my  library/  as  if  I  had  a  hundred  books.  I  never  knew 
how  much  there  was  in  Shakespeare  before ;  but  then  I 
never  had  a  Bhaer  to  explain  it  to  me.  Now  don  t  laugh 
at  his  horrid  name;  it  isn’t  pronounced  either  Bear  or 
Beer,  as  people  will  say  it,  but  something  between  the 
two,  as  only  Germans  can  give  it.  I ’m  glad  you  both 
like  what  I  tell  you  about  him,  and  hope  you  will  know 
him  some  day.  Mother  would  admire  his  warm  heart, 
father  his  wise  head.  I  admire  both,  and  feel  rich  in  my 
new  ‘  friend  Friedrich  Bhaer.’ 

“Not  having  much  money,  or  knowing  what  he’d 
like,  I  got  several  little  things,  and  put  them  about  the 
room,  where  he  would  find  them  unexpectedly.  They 
were  useful,  pretty,  or  funny,  —  a  new  standish  on  his 
table,  a  little  vase  for  his  flower,  —  he  always  has  one, 
or  a  bit  of  green  in  a  glass,  to  keep  him  fresh,  he  says, 
—  and  a  holder  for  his  blower,  so  that  he  need  n’t  burn 
up  what  Amy  calls  ‘  mouchoirs.’  I  made  it  like  those 
Beth  invented,  —  a  big  butterfly  with  a  fat  body,  and 
black  and  yellow  wings,  worsted  feelers,  and  bead  eyes. 
It  took  his  fancy  immensely,  and  he  put  it  on  his  mantel¬ 
piece  as  an  article  of  vertu ;  so  it  was  rather  a  failure 
after  all.  Poor  as  he  is,  he  did  n’t  forget  a  servant  or  a 
child  in  the  house  ;  and  not  a  soul  here,  from  the  PTench 
laundry-woman  to  Miss  Norton,  forgot  him.  I  was  so 
glad  of  that. 

“  They  got  up  a  masquerade,  and  had  a  gay  time  New 
Year’s  Eve.  I  did  n’t  mean  to  go  down,  having  no  dress  ; 
but  at  the  last  minute,  Mrs.  Kirke  remembered  some  old 
brocades,  and  Miss  Norton  lent  me  lace  and  feathers; 
so  I  dressed  up  as  Mrs.  Malaprop,  and  sailed  in  with  a 
mask  on.  No  one  knew  me,  for  I  disguised  my  voice, 
and  no  one  dreamed  of  the  silent,  haughty  Miss  March 


A  Friend 


433 

(for  they  think  I  am  very  stiff  and  cool,  most  of  them ; 
and  so  I  am  to  whipper-snappers)  could  dance  and  dress, 
and  burst  out  into  a  ‘  nice  derangement  of  epitaphs,  like 
an  allegory  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile.’  I  enjoyed  it  very 
much ;  and  when  we  unmasked,  it  was  fun  to  see  them 
stare  at  me.  I  heard  one  of  the  young  men  tell  another 
that  he  knew  I ’d  been  an  actress ;  in  fact,  he  thought 
he  remembered  seeing  me  at  one  of  the  minor  theatres. 
Meg  will  relish  that  joke.  Mr.  Bhaer  was  Nick  Bottom, 
and  Tina  was  Titania,  —  a  perfect  little  fairy  in  his  arms. 
To  see  them  dance  was  ‘quite  a  landscape,’  to  use  a 
Teddyism. 

“  I  had  a  very  happy  New  Year,  after  all ;  and  when  I 
thought  it  over  in  my  room,  I  felt  as  if  I  was  getting  on 
a  little  in  spite  of  my  many  failures  ;  for  I  ’m  cheerful  all 
the  time  now,  work  with  a  will,  and  take  more  interest  in 
other  people  than  I  used  to,  which  is  satisfactory.  Bless 
you  all !  Ever  your  loving  Jo.” 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

A  FRIEND 

K  |  THOUGH  very  happy  in  the  social  atmosphere 
about  her,  and  very  busy  with  the  daily  work 
18  that  earned  her  bread,  and  made  it  sweeter  for 
the  effort,  Jo  still  found  time  for  literary  labors.  The 
purpose  which  now  took  possession  of  her  was  a  natural 
one  to  a  poor  and  ambitious  girl ;  but  the  means  she 
took  to  gain  her  end  were  not  the  best.  She  saw  that 
money  conferred  power :  money  and  power,  therefore, 
she  resolved  to  have ;  not  to  be  used  for  herself  alone, 

but  for  those  whom  she  loved  more  than  self. 

28 


Little  Women 


4-3  + 

The  dream  of  filling  home  with  comforts,  giving  Beth 
everything  she  wanted,  from  strawberries  in  winter  to  an 
organ  in  her  bedroom  ;  going  abroad  herself,  and  always 
having  more  than  enough,  so  that  she  might  indulge  in 
the  luxury  of  charity,  had  been  for  years  Jo’s  most 
cherished  castle  in  the  air. 

The  prize-story  experience  had  seemed  to  open  a  way 
which  might,  after  long  travelling  and  much  up-hill  work, 
lead  to  this  delightful  chateau  en  Espagne.  But  the 
novel  disaster  quenched  her  courage  for  a  time,  for 
public  opinion  is  a  giant  which  has  frightened  stouter- 
hearted  Jacks  on  bigger  bean-stalks  than  hers.  Like 
that  immortal  hero,  she  reposed  awhile  after  the  first 
attempt,  which  resulted  in  a  tumble,  and  the  least  lovely 
of  the  giant’s  treasures,  if  I  remember  rightly.  But 
the  “  up  again  and  take  another  ”  spirit  was  as  strong 
in  Jo  as  in  Jack;  so  she  scrambled  up,  on  the  shady 
side  this  time,  and  got  more  booty,  but  nearly  left 
behind  her  what  was  far  more  precious  than  the  money¬ 
bags. 

She  took  to  writing  sensation  stories  ;  for  in  those  dark 
ages,  even  all-perfect  America  read  rubbish.  She  told  no 
one,  but  concocted  a  “  thrilling  tale,”  and  boldly  carried 
it  herself  to  Mr.  Dashwood,  editor  of  the  “  Weekly  Vol¬ 
cano.”  She  had  never  read  “  Sartor  Resartus,”  but  she 
had  a  womanly  instinct  that  clothes  possess  an  influence 
more  powerful  over  many  than  the  worth  of  character  or 
the  magic  of  manners.  So  she  dressed  herself  in  her 
best,  and,  trying  to  persuade  herself  that  she'was  neither 
excited  nor  nervous,  bravely  climbed  two  pairs  of  dark 
and  dirty  stairs  to  find  herself  in  a  disorderly  room,  a 
cloud  of  cigar-smoke,  and  the  presence  of  three  gentle¬ 
men,  sitting  with  their  heels  rather  higher  than  their  hats, 
which  articles  of  dress  none  of  them  took  the  trouble  to 


A  Friend 


435 

remove  on  her  appearance.  Somewhat  daunted  by  this 
reception,  Jo  hesitated  on  the  threshold,  murmuring  in 
much  embarrassment,  — 

“  Excuse  me,  I  was  looking  for  the  ‘  Weekly  Volcano  ’ 
office ;  I  wished  to  see  Mr.  Dashwood.” 

Down  went  the  highest  pair  of  heels,  up  rose  the 
smokiest  gentleman,  and,  carefully  cherishing  'his  cigar 
between  his  fingers,  he  advanced,  with  a  nod,  and  a 
countenance  expressive  of  nothing  but  sleep.  Feeling 
that  she  must  get  through  the  matter  somehow,  Jo  pro¬ 
duced  her  manuscript,  and,  blushing  redder  and  redder 
with  each  sentence,  blundered  out  fragments  of  the  little 
speech  carefully  prepared  for  the  occasion. 

“  A  friend  of  mine  desired  me  to  offer  —  a  story  — 
just  as  an  experiment  —  would  like  your  opinion  —  be 
glad  to  write  more  if  this  suits.” 

While  she  blushed  and  blundered,  Mr.  Dashwood  had 
taken  the  manuscript,  and  was  turning  over  the  leaves 
with  a  pair  of  rather  dirty  fingers,  and  casting  critical 
glances  up  and  down  the  neat  pages. 

“Not  a  first  attempt,  I  take  it?”  observing  that  the 
pages  were  numbered,  covered  only  on  one  side,  and  not 
tied  up  with  a  ribbon,  —  sure  sign  of  a  novice. 

“No,  sir;  she  has  had  some  experience,  and  got  a 
prize  for  a  tale  in  the  ‘  Blarneystone  Banner.’  ” 

“Oh,  did  she?”  and  Mr.  Dashwood  gave  Jo  a  quick 
look,  which  seemed  to  take  note  of  everything  she  had 
on,  from  the  bow  in  her  bonnet  to  the  buttons  on  her 
boots.  “Well,  you  can  leave  it,  if  you  like.  We’ve 
more  of  this  sort  of  thing  on  hand  than  we  know  what 
to  do  with  at  present ;  but  I  ’ll  run  my  eye  over  it,  and 
give  you  an  answer  next  week.” 

Now,  Jo  did  not  like  to  leave  it,  for  Mr.  Dashwood 
didn’t  suit  her  at  all;  but,  under  the  circumstances. 


Little  Women 


436 

there  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  bow  and  walk  away, 
looking  particularly  tall  and  dignified,  as  she  was  apt  to 
do  when  nettled  or  abashed.  Just  then  she  was  both; 
for  it  was  perfectly  evident,  from  the  knowing  glances 
exchanged  among  the  gentlemen,  that  her  little  fiction 
of  “my  friend”  was  considered  a  good  joke;  and  a 
laugh,  produced  by  some  inaudible  remark  of  the  editor, 
as  he  closed  the  door,  completed  her  discomfiture. 
Half  resolving  never  to  return,  she  went  home,  and 
worked  off  her  irritation  by  stitching  pinafores  vigor¬ 
ously  ;  and  in  an  hour  or  two  was  cool  enough  to  laugh 
over  the  scene,  and  long  for  next  week. 

When  she  went  again,  Mr.  Dashwood  was  alone, 
whereat  she  rejoiced ;  Mr.  Dashwood  was  much  wider 
awake  than  before,  which  was  agreeable ;  and  Mr. 
Dashwood  was  not  too  deeply  absorbed  in  a  cigar  to 
remember  his  manners :  so  the  second  interview  was 
much  more  comfortable  than  the  first. 

“  We  ’ll  take  this  ”  (editors  never  say  I),  “  if  you 
don’t  object  to  a  few  alterations.  It’s  too  long,  but 
omitting  the  passages  I ’ve  marked  will  make  it  just 
the  right  length,”  he  said,  in  a  business-like  tone. 

Jo  hardly  knew  her  own  MS.  again,  so  crumpled  and 
underscored  were  its  pages  and  paragraphs ;  but,  feel¬ 
ing  as  a  tender  parent  might  on  being  asked  to  cut  off 
her  baby’s  legs  in  order  that  it  might  fit  into  a  new 
cradle,  she  looked  at  the  marked  passages,  and  was 
surprised  to  find  that  all  the  moral  reflections — which 
she  had  carefully  put  in  as  ballast  for  much  romance  — 
had  been  stricken  out. 

“  But,  sir,  I  thought  every  story  should  have  some 
sort  of  a  moral,  so  I  took  care  to  have  a  few  of  my 
sinners  repent.” 

Mr.  Dashwood’s  editorial  gravity  relaxed  into  a 


A  Friend 


437 


smile,  for  Jo  had  forgotten  her  “  friend,”  and  spoken 
as  only  an  author  could. 

“  People  want  to  be  amused,  not  preached  at,  you 
know.  Morals  don’t  sell  nowadays;”  which  was  not 
quite  a  correct  statement,  by  the  way. 

“  You  think  it  would  do  with  these  alterations, 
then  ?  ” 

“  Yes;  it’s  a  new  plot,  and  pretty  well  worked  up  — 
language  good,  and  so  on,”  was  Mr.  Dashwood’s  affable 
reply. 

“  What  do  you  —  that  is,  what  compensation  —  ”  be¬ 
gan  Jo,  not  exactly  knowing  how  to  express  herself. 

“  Oh,  yes,  well,  we  give  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  for 
things  of  this  sort.  Pay  when  it  comes  out,”  returned 
Mr.  Dashwood,  as  if  that  point  had  escaped  him;  such 
trifles  often  do  escape  the  editorial  mind,  it  is  said. 

“Very  well;  you  can  have  it,”  said  Jo,  handing  back 
the  story,  with  a  satisfied  air ;  for,  after  the  dollar- a- 
column  work,  even  twenty-five  seemed  good  pay. 

“  Shall  I  tell  my  friend  you  will  take  another  if  she 
has  one  better  than  this?”  asked  Jo,  unconscious  of  her 
little  slip  of  the  tongue,  and  emboldened  by  her  success. 

“Well,  we’ll  look  at  it;  can’t  promise  to  take  it. 
Tell  her  to  make  it  short  and  spicy,  and  never  mind 
the  moral.  What  name  would  your  friend  like  to  put 
to  it  ?”  in  a  careless  tone. 

“None  at  all,  if  you  please;  she  doesn’t  wish  her 
name  to  appear,  and  has  no  notn  de  plume”  said  Jo, 
blushing  in  spite  of  herself. 

“Just  as  she  likes,  of  course.  The  tale  will  be  out 
next  week ;  will  you  call  for  the  money,  or  shall  I  send 
it  ?”  asked  Mr.  Dashwood,  who  felt  a  natural  desire  to 
know  who  his  new  contributor  might  be. 

“  I  '11  call.  Good  morning,  sir.” 


Little  Women 


43  8 

As  she  departed,  Mr.  Dashwood  put  up  his  feet,  with 
the  graceful  remark,  “  Poor  and  proud,  as  usual,  but 
she  ’ll  do.” 

Following  Mr.  Dashwood’s  directions,  and  making 
Mrs.  Northbury  her  model,  Jo  rashly  took  a  plunge 
into  the  frothy  sea  of  sensational  literature ;  but,  thanks 
to  the  life-preserver  thrown  her  by  a  friend,  she  came 
up  again,  not  much  the  worse  for  her  ducking. 

Like  most  young  scribblers,  she  went  abroad  for  her 
characters  and  scenery;  and  banditti,  counts,  gypsies, 
nuns,  and  duchesses  appeared  upon  her  stage,  and 
played  their  parts  with  as  much  accuracy  and  spirit 
as  could  be  expected.  Her  readers  were  not  particular 
about  such  trifles  as  grammar,  punctuation,  and  prob¬ 
ability,  and  Mr.  Dashwood  graciously  permitted  her  to 
fill  his  columns  at  the  lowest  prices,  not  thinking  it  nec¬ 
essary  to  tell  her  that  the  real  cause  of  his  hospitality 
was  the  fact  that  one  of  his  hacks,  on  being  offered 
higher  wages,  had  basely  left  him  in  the  lurch. 

She  soon  became  interested  in  her  work,  for  her 
emaciated  purse  grew  stout,  and  the  little  hoard  she 
was  making  to  take  Beth  to  the  mountains  next  sum¬ 
mer  grew  slowly  but  surely  as  the  weeks  passed.  One 
thing  disturbed  her  satisfaction,  and  that  was  that  she 
did  not  tell  them  at  home.  She  had  a  feeling  that 
father  and  mother  would  not  approve,  and  preferred  to 
have  her  own  way  first,  and  beg  pardon  afterward.  It 
was  easy  to  keep  her  secret,  for  no  name  appeared  with 
her  stories;  Mr.  Dashwood  had,  of  course,  found  it  out 
very  soon,  but  promised  to  be  dumb ;  and,  for  a  wonder, 
kept  his  word. 

She  thought  it  would  do  her  no  harm,  for  she  sin¬ 
cerely  meant  to  write  nothing  of  which  she  should  be 
ashamed,  and  quieted  all  pricks  of  conscience  by  antici- 


A  Friend  439 

pations  of  the  happy  minute  when  she  should  show 
her  earnings  and  laugh  over  her  well-kept  secret. 

But  Mr.  Dashwood  rejected  any  but  thrilling  tales, 
and,  as  thrills  could  not  be  produced  except  by  harrow¬ 
ing  up  the  souls  of  the  readers,  history  and  romance, 
land  and  sea,  science  and  art,  police  records  and  lunatic 
asylums,  had  to  be  ransacked  for  the  purpose.  Jo  soon 
found  that  her  innocent  experience  had  given  her  but 
few  glimpses  of  the  tragic  world  which  underlies  so¬ 
ciety;  so,  regarding  it  in  a  business  light,  she  set  about 
supplying  her  deficiencies  with  characteristic  energy. 
Eager  to  find  material  for  stories,  and  bent  on  making 
them  original  in  plot,  if  not  masterly  in  execution, 
she  searched  newspapers  for  accidents,  incidents,  and 
crimes ;  she  excited  the  suspicions  of  public  librarians 
by  asking  for  works  on  poisons ;  she  studied  faces  in 
the  street,  and  characters,  good,  bad,  and  indifferent, 
all  about  her ;  she  delved  in  the  dust  of  ancient  times  for 
facts  or  fictions  so  old  that  they  were  as  good  as  new, 
and  introduced  herself  to  folly,  sin,  and  misery,  as  well 
as  her  limited  opportunities  allowed.  She  thought  she 
was  prospering  finely;  but,  unconsciously,  she  was  be¬ 
ginning  to  desecrate  some  of  the  womanliest  attributes 
of  a  woman’s  character.  She  was  living  in  bad  society; 
and,  imaginary  though  it  was,  its  influence  affected  her, 
for  she  was  feeding  heart  and  fancy  on  dangerous  and 
unsubstantial  food,  and  was  fast  brushing  the  innocent 
bloom  from  her  nature  by  a  premature  acquaintance 
with  the  darker  side  of  life,  which  comes  soon  enough 
to  all  of  us. 

She  was  beginning  to  feel  rather  than  see  this,  for 
much  describing  of  other  people’s  passions  and  feelings 
set  her  to  studying  and  speculating  about  her  own,  —  a 
morbid  amusement,  in  which  healthy  young  minds  do  not 


Little  Women 


440 

voluntarily  indulge.  Wrong-doing  always  brings  its  own 
punishment;  and,  when  Jo  most  needed  hers,  she  got  it. 

I  don’t  know  whether  the  study  of  Shakespeare 
helped  her  to  read  character,  or  the  natural  instinct  of 
a  woman  for  what  was  honest,  brave,  and  strong;  but 
while  endowing  her  imaginary  heroes  with  every  per¬ 
fection  under  the  sun,  Jo  was  discovering  a  live  hero, 
who  interested  her  in  spite  of  many  human  imperfec¬ 
tions.  Mr.  Bhaer,  in  one  of  their  conversations,  had 
advised  her  to  study  simple,  true,  and  lovely  characters, 
wherever  she  found  them,  as  good  training  for  a  writer. 
Jo  took  him  at  his  word,  for  she  coolly  turned  round 
and  studied  him,  —  a  proceeding  which  would  have 
much  surprised  him,  had  he  known  it,  for  the  worthy 
Professor  was  very  humble  in  his  own  conceit. 

Why  everybody  liked  him  was  what  puzzled  Jo,  at 
first.  He  was  neither  rich  nor  great,  young  nor  hand¬ 
some  ;  in  no  respect  what  is  called  fascinating,  impos¬ 
ing,  or  brilliant;  and  yet  he  was  as  attractive  as  a  genial 
fire,  and  people  seemed  to  gather  about  him  as  natur¬ 
ally  as  about  a  warm  hearth.  He  was  poor,  yet  always 
appeared  to  be  giving  something  away ;  a  stranger,  yet 
every  one  was  his  friend ;  no  longer  young,  but  as 
happy-hearted  as  a  boy;  plain  and  peculiar,  yet  his 
face  looked  beautiful  to  many,  and  his  oddities  were 
freely  forgiven  for  his  sake.  Jo  often  watched  him, 
trying  to  discover  the  charm,  and,  at  last,  decided  that 
it  was  benevolence  which  worked  the  miracle.  If  he 
had  any  sorrow,  “  it  sat  with  its  head  under  its  wing,” 
and  he  turned  only  his  sunny  side  to  the  world.  There 
were  lines  upon  his  forehead,  but  Time  seemed  to  have 
touched  him  gently,  remembering  how  kind  he  was  to 
others.  The  pleasant  curves  about  his  mouth  were  the 
memorials  of  many  friendly  words  and  cheery  laughs ; 


A  Friend 


441 

his  eyes  were  never  cold  or  hard,  and  his  big  hand  had 
a  warm,  strong  grasp  that  was  more  expressive  than 
words. 

His  very  clothes  seemed  to  partake  of  the  hospitable 
nature  of  the  wearer.  They  looked  as  if  they  were  at 
ease,  and  liked  to  make  him  comfortable ;  his  capacious 
waistcoat  was  suggestive  of  a  large  heart  underneath ; 
his  rusty  coat  had  a  social  air,  and  the  baggy  pockets 
plainly  proved  that  little  hands  often  went  in  empty  and 
came  out  full ;  his  very  boots  were  benevolent,  and  his 
collars  never  stiff  and  raspy  like  other  people’s. 

“  That ’s  it !  ”  said  Jo  to  herself,  when  she  at  length 
discovered  that  genuine  good-will  towards  one’s  fellow- 
men  could  beautify  and  dignify  even  a  stout  German 
teacher,  who  shovelled  in  his  dinner,  darned  his  own 
socks,  and  was  burdened  with  the  name  of  Bhaer. 

Jo  valued  goodness  highly,  but  she  also  possessed  a 
most  feminine  respect  for  intellect,  and  a  little  discovery 
which  she  made  about  the  Professor  added  much  to  her 
regard  for  him.  He  never  spoke  of 'himself,  and  no  one 
ever  knew  that  in  his  native  city  he  had  been  a  man 
much  honored  and  esteemed  for  learning  and  integrity, 
till  a  countryman  came  to  see  him,  and,  in  a  conversa¬ 
tion  with  Miss  Norton,  divulged  the  pleasing  fact. 
From  her  Jo  learned  it,  and  liked  it  all  the  better  be¬ 
cause  Mr.  Bhaer  had  never  told  it.  She  felt  proud  to 
know  that  he  was  an  honored  Professor  in  Berlin, 
though  only  a  poor  language-master  in  America;  and 
his  homely,  hard-working  life  was  much  beautified  by 
the  spice  of  romance  which  this  discovery  gave  it. 

Another  and  a  better  gift  than  intellect  was  shown 
her  in  a  most  unexpected  manner.  Miss  Norton  had 
the  entree  into  literary  society,  which  Jo  would  have  had 
no  chance  of  seeing  but  for  her.  The  solitary  woman 


Little  Women 


4-42 

felt  an  interest  in  the  ambitious  girl,  and  kindly  conferred 
many  favors  of  this  sort  both  on  Jo  and  the  Professor. 
She  took  them  with  her,  one  night,  to  a  select  sympo¬ 
sium,  held  in  honor  of  several  celebrities. 

Jo  went  prepared  to  bow  down  and  adore  the  mighty 
ones  whom  she  had  worshipped  with  youthful  enthu¬ 
siasm  afar  off.  But  her  reverence  for  genius  received 
a  severe  shock  that  night,  and  it  took  her  some  time  to 
recover  from  the  discovery  that  the  great  creatures  were 
only  men  and  women  after  all.  Imagine  her  dismay,  on 
stealing  a  glance  of  timid  admiration  at  the  poet  whose 
lines  suggested  an  ethereal  being  fed  on  “  spirit,  fire,  and 
dew,”  to  behold  him  devouring  his  supper  with  an  ardor 
which  flushed  his  intellectual  countenance.  Turning  as 
from  a  fallen  idol,  she  made  other  discoveries  which  rap¬ 
idly  dispelled  her  romantic  illusions.  The  great  novelist 
vibrated  between  two  decanters  with  the  regularity  of  a 
pendulum;  the  famous  divine  flirted  openly  with  one  of 
the  Madame  de  Staels  of  the  age,  who  looked  daggers 
at  another  Corinne’,  who  was  amiably  satirizing  her,  after 
out-manoeuvring  her  in  efforts  to  absorb  the  profound 
philosopher,  who  imbibed  tea  Johnsonianly  and  ap¬ 
peared  to  slumber,  the  loquacity  of  the  lady  rendering 
speech  impossible.  The  scientific  celebrities,  forgetting 
their  mollusks  and  glacial  periods,  gossiped  about  art, 
while  devoting  themselves  to  oysters  and  ices  with  char¬ 
acteristic  energy;  the  young  musician,  who  was  charm¬ 
ing  the  city  like  a  second  Orpheus,  talked  horses ;  and 
the  specimen  of  the  British  nobility  present  happened 
to  be  the  most  ordinary  man  of  the  party. 

Before  the  evening  was  half  over,  Jo  felt  so  com¬ 
pletely  desillusionnee ,  that  she  sat  down  in  a  corner  to 
recover  herself.  Mr.  Bhaer  soon  joined  her,  looking 
rather  out  of  his  element,  and  presently  several  of  the 


A  Friend 


443 


philosophers,  each  mounted  on  his  hobby,  came  am¬ 
bling  up  to  hold  an  intellectual  tournament  in  the 
recess.  The  conversation  was  miles  beyond  Jo’s  com¬ 
prehension,  but  she  enjoyed  it,  though  Kant  and  Hegel 
were  unknown  gods,  the  Subjective  and  Objective  unin¬ 
telligible  terms;  and  the  only  thing  “  evolved  from  her 
inner  consciousness,”  was  a  bad  headache  after  it  was 
all  over.  It  dawned  upon  her  gradually  that  the  world 
was  being  picked  to  pieces,  and  put  together  on  new, 
and,  according  to  the  talkers,  on  infinitely  better  prin¬ 
ciples  than  before ;  that  religion  was  in  a  fair  way  to 
be  reasoned  into  nothingness,  and  intellect  was  to  be 
the  only  God.  Jo  knew  nothing  about  philosophy  or 
metaphysics  of  any  sort,  but  a  curious  excitement,  half 
pleasurable,  half  painful,  came  over  her,  as  she  listened 
with  a  sense  of  being  turned  adrift  into  time  and  space, 
like  a  young  balloon  out  on  a  holiday. 

She  looked  round  to  see  how  the  Professor  liked  it, 
and  found  him  looking  at  her  with  the  grimmest  expres¬ 
sion  she  had  ever  seen  him  wear.  He  shook  his  head, 
and  beckoned  her  to  come  away ;  but  she  was  fas¬ 
cinated,  just  then,  by  the  freedom  of  Speculative  Phi¬ 
losophy,  and  kept  her  seat,  trying  to  find  out  what  the 
wise  gentlemen  intended  to  rely  upon  after  they  had 
annihilated  all  the  old  beliefs. 

Now,  Mr.  Bhaer  was  a  diffident  man,  and  slow  to 
offer  his  own  opinions,  not  because  they  were  unsettled, 
but  too  sincere  and  earnest  to  be  lightly  spoken.  As 
he  glanced  from  Jo  to  several  other  young  people,  at¬ 
tracted  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  philosophic  pyrotechnics, 
he  knit  his  brows,  and  longed  to  speak,  fearing  that  some 
inflammable  young  soul  would  be  led  astray  by  the 
rockets,  to  find,  when  the 'display  was  over,  that  they 
had  only  an  empty  stick  or  a  scorched  hand. 


Little  Women 


444 

He  bore  it  as  long  as  he  could ;  but  when  he  was  ap< 
pealed  to  for  an  opinion,  he  blazed  up  with  honest  indig¬ 
nation,  and  defended  religion  with  all  the  eloquence  of 
truth,  —  an  eloquence  which  made  his  broken  English 
musical,  and  his  plain  face  beautiful.  He  had  a  hard 
fight,  for  the  wise  men  argued  well ;  but  he  did  n’t  know 
when  he  was  beaten,  and  stood  to  his  colors  like  a  man. 
Somehow,  as  he  talked,  the  world  got  right  again  to  Jo; 
the  old  beliefs,  that  had  lasted  so  long,  seemed  better 
than  the  new;  God  was  not  a  blind  force,  and  immortal¬ 
ity  was  not  a  pretty  fable,  but  a  blessed  fact.  She  felt 
as  if  she  had  solid  ground  under  her  feet  again ;  and 
when  Mr.  Bhaer  paused,  out-talked,  but  not  one  whit 
convinced,  Jo  wanted  to  clap  her  hands  and  thank  him. 

She  did  neither;  but  she  remembered  this  scene,  and 
gave  the  Professor  her  heartiest  respect,  for  she  knew 
it  cost  him  an  effort  to  speak  out  then  and  there,  be¬ 
cause  his  conscience  would  not  let  him  be  silent.  She 
began  to  see  that  character  is  a  better  possession  than 
money,  rank,  intellect,  or  beauty ;  and  to  feel  that  if 
greatness  is  what  a  wise  man  has  defined  it  to  be, 
“  truth,  reverence,  and  good-will,”  then  her  friend 
Friedrich  Bhaer  was  not  only  good,  but  great. 

This  belief  strengthened  daily.  She  valued  his  es¬ 
teem,  she  coveted  his  respect,  she  wanted  to  be  worthy 
of  his  friendship ;  and,  just  when  the  wish  was  sincerest, 
she  came  near  losing  everything.  It  all  grew  out  of  a 
cocked  hat ;  for  one  evening  the  Professor  came  in  to  give 
Jo  her  lesson,  with  a  paper  soldier-cap  on  his  head,  which 
Tina  had  put  there,  and  he  had  forgotten  to  take  off. 

“  It ’s  evident  he  does  n’t  look  in  his  glass  before  com¬ 
ing  down,”  thought  Jo,  with  a  smile,  as  he  said  “  Goot 
efening,”  and  sat  soberly  down,  quite  unconscious  of 
the  ludicrous  contrast  between  his  subject  and  his 


A  Friend 


445 

head-gear,  for  he  was  going  to  read  her  the  “  Death 
of  Wallenstein.” 

She  said  nothing  at  first,  for  she  liked  to  hear  him 
laugh  out  his  big,  hearty  laugh,  when  anything  funny 
happened,  so  she  left  him  to  discover  it  for  himself,  and 
presently  forgot  all  about  it;  for  to  hear  a  German  read 
Schiller  is  rather  an  absorbing  occupation.  After  the 
reading  came  the  lesson,  which  was  a  lively  one,  for  Jo 
was  in  a  gay  mood  that  night,  and  the  cocked-hat  kept 
her  eyes  dancing  with  merriment.  The  Professor  did  n’t 
know  what  to  make  of  her,  and  stopped  at  last,  to  ask, 
with  an  air  of  mild  surprise  that  was  irresistible, — 

“  Mees  Marsch,  for  what  do  you  laugh  in  your  mas¬ 
ter’s  face?  Haf  you  no  respect  for  me,  that  you  go  on 
so  bad?” 

“  How  can  I  be  respectful,  sir,  when  you  forget  to 
take  your  hat  off  ?  ”  said  Jo. 

Lifting  his  hand  to  his  head,  the  absent-minded  Pro¬ 
fessor  gravely  felt  and  removed  the  little  cocked-hat, 
looked  at  it  a  minute,  and  then  threw  back  his  head, 
and  laughed  like  a  merry  bass-viol. 

“  Ah  !  I  see  him  now ;  it  is  that  imp  Tina  who  makes 
me  a  fool  with  my  cap.  Well,  it  is  nothing;  but  see 
you,  if  this  lesson  goes  not  well,  you  too  shall  wear 

h#  )  y 

im. 

But  the  lesson  did  not  go  at  all  for  a  few  minutes, 
because  Mr.  Bhaer  caught  sight  of  a  picture  on  the  hat, 
and,  unfolding  it,  said,  with  an  air  of  great  disgust, — 

“  I  wish  these  papers  did  not  come  in  the  house ;  they 
are  not  for  children  to  see,  nor  young  people  to  read. 
It  is  not  well,  and  I  haf  no  patience  with  those  who 
make  this  harm.” 

Jo  glanced  at  the  sheet,  and  saw  a  pleasing  illustration 
composed  of  a  lunatic,  a  corpse,  a  villain,  and  a  viper 


Little  Women 


446 

She  did  not  like  it;  but  the  impulse  that  made  her  turn 
it  over  was  not  one  of  displeasure,  but  fear,  because,  for 
a  minute,  she  fancied  the  paper  was  the  “  Volcano.”  It 
was  not,  however,  and  her  panic  subsided  as  she  remem¬ 
bered  that,  even  if  it  had  been,  and  one  of  her  own  tales 
in  it,  there  would  have  been  no  name  to  betray  her. 
She  had  betrayed  herself,  however,  by  a  look  and  a 
blush ;  for,  though  an  absent  man,  the  Professor  saw  a 
good  deal  more  than  people  fancied.  He  knew  that  Jo 
wrote,  and  had  met  her  down  among  the  newspaper 
offices  more  than  once ;  but  as  she  never  spoke  of  it,  he 
asked  no  questions,  in  spite  of  a  strong  desire  to  see  her 
work.  Now  it  occurred  to  him  that  she  was  doing  what 
she  was  ashamed  to  own,  and  it  troubled  him.  He  did 
not  say  to  himself,  “  It  is  none  of  my  business ;  I ’ve  no 
right  to  say  anything,”  as  many  people  would  have  done ; 
he  only  remembered  that  she  was  young  and  poor,  a 
girl  far  away  from  mother’s  love  and  father’s  care ;  and 
he  was  moved  to  help  her  with  an  impulse  as  quick  and 
natural  as  that  which  would  prompt  him  to  put  out  his 
hand  to  save  a  baby  from  a  puddle.  All  this  flashed 
through  his  mind  in  a  minute,  but  not  a  trace  of  it  ap¬ 
peared  in  his  face;  and  by  the  time  the  paper  was 
turned,  and  Jo’s  needle  threaded,  he  was  ready  to  say 
quite  naturally,  but  very  gravely,  — 

“  Yes,  you  are  right  to  put  it  from  you.  I  do  not  like 
to  think  that  good  young  girls  should  see  such  things. 
They  are  made  pleasant  to  some,  but  I  would  more 
rather  give  my  boys  gunpowder  to  play  with  than  this 
bad  trash.” 

“  All  may  not  be  bad,  only  silly,  you  know ;  and  if  there 
is  a  demand  for  it,  I  don’t  see  any  harm  in  supplying  it. 
Many  very  respectable  people  make  an  honest  living 
out  of  what  are  called  sensation  stories,”  said  Jo,  scratch- 


A  Friend 


4+7 

mg  gathers  so  energetically  that  a  row  of  little  slits  fol¬ 
lowed  her  pin. 

“  There  is  a  demand  for  whiskey,  but  I  think  you  and 
I  do  not  care  to  sell  it.  If  the  respectable  people  knew 
what  harm  they  did,  they  would  not  feel  that  the  living 
was  honest.  They  haf  no  right  to  put  poison  in  the 
sugar-plum,  and  let  the  small  ones  eat  it.  No;  they 
should  think  a  little,  and  sweep  mud  in  the  street  before 
they  do  this  thing.” 

Mr.  Bhaer  spoke  warmly,  and  walked  to  the  fire, 
crumpling  the  paper  in  his  hands.  Jo  sat  still,  looking 
as  if  the  fire  had  come  to  her;  for  her  cheeks  burned 
long  after  the  cocked  hat  had  turned  to  smoke,  and  gone 
harmlessly  up  the  chimney. 

“  I  should  like  much  to  send  all  the  rest  after  him,”  mut¬ 
tered  the  Professor,  coming  back  with  a  relieved  air. 

Jo  thought  what  a  blaze  her  pile  of  papers  upstairs 
would  make,  and  her  hard-earned  money  lay  rather 
heavily  on  her  conscience  at  that  minute.  Then  she 
thought  consolingly  to  herself,  “  Mine  are  not  like  that; 
they  are  only  silly,  never  bad,  so  I  won’t  be  worried ;  ” 
and  taking  up  her  book,  she  said,  with  a  studious 
face,  — 

“  Shall  we  go  on,  sir?  I’ll  be  very  good  and  proper 
now.” 

“  I  shall  hope  so,”  was  all  he  said,  but  he  meant  more 
than  she  imagined  ;  and  the  grave,  kind  look  he  gave 
her  made  her  feel  as  if  the  words  “  Weekly  Valcano  ” 
were  printed  in  large  type  on  her  forehead. 

As  soon  as  she  went  to  her  room,  she  got  out  her 
papers,  and  carefully  re-read  every  one  of  her  stories. 
Being  a  little  short-sighted,  Mr.  Bhaer  sometimes  used 
eye-glasses,  and  Jo  had  tried  them  once,  smiling  to  see 
how  they  magnified  the  fine  print  of  her  book;  now  she 


Little  Women 


448 

seemed  to  have  got  on  the  Professor’s  mental  or  moral 
spectacles  also ;  for  the  faults  of  these  poor  stories 
glared  at  her  dreadfully,  and  filled  her  with  dismay. 

“  They  are  trash,  and  will  soon  be  worse  than  trash  if 
I  go  on ;  for  each  is  more  sensational  than  the  last. 
I ’ve  gone  blindly  on,  hurting  myself  and  other  people, 
for  the  sake  of  money;  I  know  it ’s  so,  for  I  can’t  read 
this  stuff  in  sober  earnest  without  being  horribly  ashamed 
of  it;  and  what  should  I  do  if  they  wrere  seen  at  home, 
or  Mr.  Bhaer  got  hold  of  them?” 

Jo  turned  hot  at  the  bare  idea,  and  stuffed  the  whole 
bundle  into  her  stove,  nearly  setting  the  chimney  afire 
with  the  blaze. 

“  Yes,  that’s  the  best  place  for  such  inflammable  non¬ 
sense;  I ’d  better  burn  the  house  down,  I  suppose,  than 
let  other  people  blow  themselves  up  with  my  gun¬ 
powder,”  she  thought,  as  she  watched  the  “  Demon  of 
the  Jura”  whisk  away,  a  little  black  cinder  with  fiery 
eyes. 

But  when  nothing  remained  of  all  her  three  months’ 
work  except  a  heap  of  ashes,  and  the  money  in  her  lap, 
Jo  looked  sober,  as  she  sat  on  the  floor,  wondering  what 
she  ought  to  do  about  her  wages. 

“  I  think  I  have  n’t  done  much  harm  yet,  and  may  keep 
this  to  pay  for  my  time,”  she  said,  after  a  long  medita¬ 
tion,  adding  impatiently,  “  I  almost  wish  I  had  n’t  any 
conscience,  it’s  so  inconvenient.  If  I  didn’t  care  about 
doing  right,  and  did  n’t  feel  uncomfortable  when  doing 
wrong,  I  should  get  on  capitally.  I  can’t  help  wishing 
sometimes,  that  father  and  mother  had  n’t  been  so  par¬ 
ticular  about  such  things.” 

Ah,  Jo,  instead  of  wishing  that,  thank  God  that 
“  father  and  mother  were  particular,”  and  pity  from  your 
heart  those  who  have  no  such  guardians  to  hedge  them 


A  Friend 


449 

round  with  principles  which  may  seem  like  prison-walls 
to  impatient  youth,  but  which  will  prove  sure  foundations 
to  build  character  upon  in  womanhood. 

Jo  wrote  no  more  sensational  stories,  deciding  that  the 
money  did  not  pay  for  her  share  of  the  sensation;  but, 
going  to  the  other  extreme,  as  is  the  way  with  people  of 
her  stamp,  she  took  a  course  of  Mrs.  Sherwood,  Miss 
Edgeworth,  and  Hannah  More ;  and  then  produced  a 
tale  which  might  have  been  more  properly  called  an 
essay  or  a  sermon,  so  intensely  moral  was  it.  She  had 
her  doubts  about  it  from  the  beginning;  for  her  lively 
fancy  and  girlish  romance  felt  as  ill  at  ease  in  the  new 
style  as  she  would  have  done  masquerading  in  the  stiff 
and  cumbrous  costume  of  the  last  century.  She  sent  this 
didactic  gem  to  several  markets,  but  it  found  no  pur¬ 
chaser;  and  she  was  inclined  to  agree  with  Mr.  Dash- 
wood,  that  morals  did  n’t  sell. 

Then  she  tried  a  child’s  story,  which  she  could  easily 
have  disposed  of  if  she  had  not  been  mercenary  enough 
to  demand  filthy  lucre  for  it.  The  only  person  who  offered 
enough  to  make  it  worth  her  while  to  try  juvenile  litera¬ 
ture  was  a  worthy  gentleman  who  felt  it  his  mission  to 
convert  all  the  world  to  his  particular  belief.  But  much 
as  she  liked  to  write  for  children,  Jo  could  not  consent 
to  depict  all  her  naughty  boys  as  being  eaten  by  bears 
or  tossed  by  mad  bulls,  because  they  did  not  go  to  a 
particular  Sabbath-school,  nor  all  the  good  infants,  who 
did  go,  as  rewarded  by  every  kind  of  bliss,  from  gilded 
gingerbread  to  escorts  of  angels,  when  they  departed 
this  life  with  psalms  or  sermons  on  their  lisping  tongues. 
So  nothing  came  of  these  trials;  and  Jo  corked  up  her 
inkstand,  and  said,  in  a  fit  of  very  wholesome  humility, — • 

“  I  don’t  know  anything;  I  ’ll  wait  till  I  do  before  I 
try  again,  and,  meantime,  ‘  sweep  mud  in  the  street,’  if  ] 

29 


Little  Women 


45° 

can’t  do  better;  that’s  honest,  at  least;  ”  which  decb 
sion  proved  that  her  second  tumble  down  the  bean-stalk 
had  done  her  some  good. 

While  these  internal  revolutions  were  going  on,  her 
external  life  had  been  as  busy  and  uneventful  as  usual ; 
and  if  she  sometimes  looked  serious  or  a  little  sad  no  one 
observed  it  but  Professor  Bhaer.  He  did  it  so  quietly  that 
Jo  never  knew  he  was  watching  to  see  if  she  would  ac¬ 
cept  and  profit  by  his  reproof;  but  she  stood  the  test, 
and  he  was  satisfied ;  for,  though  no  words  passed  be¬ 
tween  them,  he  knew  that  she  had  given  up  writing. 
Not  only  did  he  guess  it  by  the  fact  that  the  second  fin¬ 
ger  of  her  right  hand  was  no  longer  inky,  but  she  spent 
her  evenings  downstairs  now,  was  met  no  more  among 
newspaper  offices,  and  studied  with  a  dogged  patience, 
which  assured  him  that  she  was  bent  on  occupying  her 
mind  with  something  useful,  if  not  pleasant 

He  helped  her  in  many  ways,  proving  himself  a 
true  friend,  and  Jo  was  happy;  for,  while  her  pen  lay 
idle,  she  was  learning  other  lessons  beside  German, 
and  laying  a  foundation  for  the  sensation  story  of  her 
own  life. 

It  was  a  pleasant  winter  and  a  long  one,  for  she  did 
not  leave  Mrs.  Kirke  till  June.  Every  one  seemed  sorry 
when  the  time  came;  the  children  were  inconsolable, 
and  Mr.  Bhaer’s  hair  stuck  straight  up  all  over  his 
head,  for  he  always  rumpled  it  wildly  when  disturbed 
in  mind. 

“  Going  home?  Ah,  you  are  happy  that  you  haf  a 
home  to  go  in,”  he  said,  when  she  told  him,  and  sat 
silently  pulling  his  beard,  in  the  corner,  while  she  held 
a  little  levee  on  that  last  evening. 

She  was  going  early,  so  she  bade  them  all  good-by  over 
night;  and  when  his  turn  came,  she  said  warmly, — - 


A  Friend 


45 T 

“  Now,  sir,  you  won’t  forget  to  come  and  see  us,  if  you 
ever  travel  our  way,  will  you?  I  ’ll  never  forgive  you  if 
you  do,  for  I  want  them  all  to  know  my  friend.” 

“  Do  you  ?  Shall  I  come  ?  ”  he  asked,  looking  down  at 
her  with  an  eager  expression  which  she  did  not  see. 

“Yes,  come  next  month;  Laurie  graduates  then,  and 
you  ’d  enjoy  Commencement  as  something  new.” 

“That  is  your  best  friend,  of  whom  you  speak?”  he 
said,  in  an  altered  tone. 

“Yes,  my  boy  Teddy;  I ’m  very  proud  of  him,  and 
should  like  you  to  see  him.” 

Jo  looked  up  then,  quite  unconscious  of  anything  but 
her  own  pleasure  in  the  prospect  of  showing  them  to 
one  another.  Something  in  Mr.  Bhaer’s  face  suddenly 
recalled  the  fact  that  she  might  find  Laurie  more  than  a 
“  best  friend,”  and,  simply  because  she  particularly  wished 
not  to  look  as  if  anything  was  the  matter,  she  involun¬ 
tarily  began  to  blush ;  and  the  more  she  tried  not  to, 
the  redder  she  grew.  If  it  had  not  been  for  Tina  on  her 
knee,  she  did  n’t  know  what  would  have  become  of  her. 
Fortunately,  the  child  was  moved  to  hug  her;  so  she 
managed  to  hide  her  face  an  instant,  hoping  the  Pro¬ 
fessor  did  not  see  it.  But  he  did,  and  his  own  changed 
again  from  that  momentary  anxiety  to  its  usual  expres¬ 
sion,  as  he  said  cordially,  — 

“  I  fear  I  shall  not  make  the  time  for  that,  but  I  wish 
the  friend  much  success,  and  you  all  happiness.  Gott 
bless  you !  ”  and  with  that,  he  shook  hands  warmly, 
shouldered  Tina,  and  went  away. 

But  after  the  boys  were  abed,  he  sat  long  before  his  fire, 
with  the  tired  look  on  his  face,  and  the  “  heimweh or 
homesickness,  lying  heavy  at  his  heart.  Once,  when  he 
remembered  Jo,  as  she  sat  with  the  little  child  in  her  lap 
and  that  new  softness  in  her  face,  he  leaned  his  head  on 


Little  Women 


45  2 

his  hands  a  minute,  and  then  roamed  about  the  room,  as 
if  in  search  of  something  that  he  could  not  find. 

“  It  is  not  for  me ;  I  must  not  hope  it  now,”  he  said  to 
himself,  with  a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  groan  ;  then,  as  if 
reproaching  himself  for  the  longing  that  he  could  not 
repress,  he  went  and  kissed  the  two  towzled  heads  upon 
the  pillow,  took  down  his  seldom-used  meerschaum,  and 
opened  his  Plato. 

He  did  his  best,  and  did  it  manfully;  but  I  don’t  think 
he  found  that  a  pair  of  rampant  boys,  a  pipe,  or  even  the 
divine  Plato,  were  very  satisfactory  substitutes  for  wife  and 
child  and  home. 

Early  as  it  was,  he  was  at  the  station,  next  morning,  to 
see  Jo  off;  and,  thanks  to  him,  she  began  her  solitary 
journey  with  the  pleasant  memory  of  a  familiar  face  smil¬ 
ing  its  farewell,  a  bunch  of  violets  to  keep  her  company, 
and,  best  of  all,  the  happy  thought,  — 

“  Well,  the  winter ’s  gone,  and  I ’ve  written  no  books, 
earned  no  fortune  ;  but  I ’ve  made  a  friend  worth  having, 
and  I  ’ll  try  to  keep  him  all  my  life.” 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

HEARTACHE 

WHATEVER  his  motive  might  have  been, 
Laurie  studied  to  some  purpose  that  year, 
for  he  graduated  with  honor,  and  gave  the 
Latin  oration  with  the  grace  of  a  Phillips  and  the  eloquence 
of  a  Demosthenes,  so  his  friends  said.  They  were  all 
there,  his  grandfather,  —  oh,  so  proud  !  — Mr.  and  Mrs. 
March,  John  and  Meg,  Jo  and  Beth,  and  all  exulted  over 
him  with  the  sincere  admiration  which  boys  make  light 


Heartache 


453 

of  at  the  time,  but  fail  to  win  from  the  world  by  any 
after-triumphs. 

“  I ’ve  got  to  stay  for  this  confounded  supper,  but  I 
shall  be  home  early  to-morrow;  you  ’ll  come  and  meet 
me  as  usual,  girls?”  Laurie  said,  as  he  put  the  sisters 
into  the  carriage  after  the  joys  of  the  day  were  over.  He 
said  “  girls,”  but  he  meant  Jo,  for  she  was  the  only  one 
who  kept  up  the  old  custom ;  she  had  not  the  heart 
to  refuse  her  splendid,  successful  boy  anything,  and 
answered  warmly,  — 

“  I  ’ll  come,  Teddy,  rain  or  shine,  and  march  before 
you,  playing  ‘  Hail  the  conquering  hero  comes!  on  a  jews- 
harp.” 

Laurie  thanked  her  with  a  look  that  made  her  think,  in 
a  sudden  panic,  “  Oh,  deary  me  !  I  know  he  ’ll  say  some¬ 
thing,  and  then  what  shall  I  do?  ” 

Evening  meditation  and  morning  work  somewhat 
allayed  her  fears,  and  having  decided  that  she  would  n’t 
be  vain  enough  to  think  people  were  going  to  propose 
when  she  had  given  them  every  reason  to  know  what  her 
answer  would  be,  she  set  forth  at  the  appointed  time, 
hoping  Teddy  would  n’t  do  anything  to  make  her  hurt 
his  poor  little  feelings.  A  call  at  Meg’s,  and  a  refreshing 
sniff  and  sip  at  the  Daisy  and  Demijohn,  still  further  for¬ 
tified  her  for  the  tete-a-tete ,  but  when  she  saw  a  stalwart 
figure  looming  in  the  distance,  she  had  a  strong  desire  to 
turn  about  and  run  away. 

“  Where ’s  the  jews-harp,  Jo  ?  ”  cried  Laurie,  as  soon  as 
he  was  within  speaking  distance. 

“  I  forgot  it;  ”  and  Jo  took  heart  again,  for  that  salu¬ 
tation  could  not  be  called  lover-like. 

She  always  used  to  take  his  arm  on  these  occasions; 
now  she  did  not,  and  he  made  no  complaint,  which  was 
a  bad  sign,  but  talked  on  rapidly  about  all  sorts  of 


Little  Women 


454 

far-away  subjects,  till  they  turned  from  the  road  intG 
the  little  path  that  led  homeward  through  the  grove. 
Then  he  walked  more  slowly,  suddenly  lost  his  fine 
flow  of  language,  and,  now  and  then,  a  dreadful  pause 
occurred.  To  rescue  the  conversation  from  one  of  the 
wells  of  silence  into  which  it  kept  falling,  Jo  said 
hastily,  — 

“  Now  you  must  have  a  good  long  holiday !  ” 

“  I  intend  to.” 

Something  in  his  resolute  tone  made  Jo  look  up  quickly 
to  find  him  looking  down  at  her  with  an  expression  that 
assured  her  the  dreaded  moment  had  come,  and  made 
her  put  out  her  hand  with  an  imploring,  — 

“No,  Teddy,  please  don’t!  ” 

“  I  will,  and  you  must  hear  me.  It ’s  no  use,  Jo; 
we  Ve  got  to  have  it  out,  and  the  sooner  the  better  foi 
both  of  us,”  he  answered,  getting  flushed  and  exciteo 
all  at  once. 

“  Say  what  you  like,  then ;  I  ’ll  listen,”  said  Jo,  with  a 
desperate  sort  of  patience. 

Laurie  was  a  young  lover,  but  he  was  in  earnest,  and 
meant  to  “  have  it  out,”  if  he  died  in  the  attempt;  so  he 
plunged  into  the  subject  with  characteristic  impetuosity, 
saying  in  a  voice  that  would  get  choky  now  and  then,  in 
spite  of  manful  efforts  to  keep  it  steady,  — 

“I’ve  loved  you  ever  since  I’ve  known  you,  Jo; 
could  n’t  help  it,  you ’ve  been  so  good  to  me.  I ’ve  tried 
to  show  it,  but  you  would  n’t  let  me  ;  now  I ’m  going  to 
make  you  hear,  and  give  me  an  answer,  for  I  can't  go  on 
so  any  longer.” 

“  I  wanted  to  save  you  this ;  I  thought  you ’d  under¬ 
stand —  ”  began  Jo,  finding  it  a  great  deal  harder  than 
she  expected. 

“  I  know  you  did ;  but  girls  are  so  queer  you  never 


iwilis 


iM 

i  ■  >  ,  & 


Heartache 


455 

know  what  they  mean.  They  say  No  when  they  mean 
Yes,  and  drive  a  man  out  of  his  wits  just  for  the  fun 
of  it,”  returned  Laurie,  entrenching  himself  behind  an 
undeniable  fact. 

“/don’t.  I  never  wanted  to  make  you  care  forme 
so,  and  I  went  away  to  keep  you  from  it  if  I  could.” 

“  I  thought  so ;  it  was  like  you,  but  it  was  no  use. 
I  only  loved  you  all  the  more,  and  I  worked  hard  to 
please  you,  and  I  gave  up  billiards  and  everything 
you  did  n’t  like,  and  waited  and  never  complained,  for 
I  hoped  you ’d  love  me,  though  I ’m  not  half  good 
enough — ”  here  there  was  a  choke  that  couldn’t  be 
controlled,  so  he  decapitated  buttercups  while  he  cleared 
his  “  confounded  throat.” 

“  Yes,  you  are ;  you  ’re  a  great  deal  too  good  for  me, 
and  I ’m  so  grateful  to  you,  and  so  proud  and  fond  of 
you,  I  don’t  see  why  I  can’t  love  you  as^  you  want  me 
to.  I ’ve  tried,  but  I  can’t  change  the  feeling,  and  it 
would  be  a  lie  to  say  I  do  when  I  don’t.” 

“  Really,  truly,  Jo?  ” 

He  stopped  short,  and  caught  both  her  hands  as  he 
put  his  question  with  a  look  that  she  did  not  soon 
forget. 

“  Really,  truly,  dear.” 

They  were  in  the  grove  now,  close  by  the  stile ;  and 
when  the  last  words  fell  reluctantly  from  Jo’s  lips, 
Laurie  dropped  her  hands  and  turned  as  if  to  go  on, 
but  for  once  in  his  life  that  fence  was  too  much  for  him ; 
so  he  just  laid  his  head  down  on  the  mossy  post,  and 
stood  so  still  that  Jo  was  frightened. 

“  O  Teddy,  I ’m  so  sorry,  so  desperately  sorry,  I 
could  kill  myself  if  it  would  do  any  good  !  I  wish  you 
wouldn’t  take  it  so  hard.  I  can’t  help  it;  you  know 
it ’s  impossible  for  people  to  make  themselves  love  other 


Little  Women 


4  56 

people  if  they  don’t,”  cried  Jo  inelegantly  but  remorse^ 
fully,  as  she  softly  patted  his  shoulder,  remembering  the 
time  when  he  had  comforted  her  so  long  ago. 

“  They  do  sometimes,”  said  a  muffled  voice  from 
the  post. 

“  I  don’t  believe  it ’s  the  right  sort  of  love,  and  I ’d 
rather  not  try  it,”  was  the  decided  answer. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  while  a  blackbird  sung 
blithely  on  the  willow  by  the  river,  and  the  tall  grass 
rustled  in  the  wind.  Presently  Jo  said  very  soberly,  as 
she  sat  down  on  the  step  of  the  stile,  — 

“  Laurie,  I  want  to  tell  you  something.” 

He  started  as  if  he  had  been  shot,  threw  up  his  head, 
and  cried  out,  in  a  fierce  tone — - 

“  Don't  tell  me  that,  Jo ;  I  can’t  bear  it  now  !  ” 

“  Tell  what?  ”  she  asked,  wondering  at  his  violence. 

“  That  you  love  that  old  man.” 

“What  old  man?  ”  demanded  Jo,  thinking  he  must 
mean  his  grandfather. 

“  That  devilish  Professor  you  were  always  writing 
about  If  you  say  you  love  him,  I  know  I  shall  do 
something  desperate;  ”  and  he  looked  as  if  he  would 
keep  his  word,  as  he  clenched  his  hands,  with  a  wrathful 
spark  in  his  eyes. 

Jo  wanted  to  laugh,  but  restrained  herself,  and  said 
warmly,  for  she,  too,  was  getting  excited  with  all  this, — 

“Don’t  swear,  Teddy!  He  isn’t  old,  nor  anything 
bad,  but  good  and  kind,  and  the  best  friend  I ’ve  got, 
next  to  you.  Pray,  don’t  fly  into  a  passion  ;  I  want  to 
be  kind,  but  I  know  I  shall  get  angry  if  you  abuse  my 
Professor.  I  have  n’t  the  least  idea  of  loving  him  or 
anybody  else.” 

“  But  you  will  after  a  while,  and  then  what  will  become 
of  me?” 


Heartache 


457 

“  You  ’ll  love  some  one  else  too,  like  a  sensible  boy, 
and  forget  all  this  trouble.” 

“  I  ccui't  love  any  one  else ;  and  I  ’ll  never  forget  you, 
Jo,  never !  never  !  ”  with  a  stamp  to  emphasize  his  pas¬ 
sionate  words. 

“  What  shall  I  do  with  him?  ”  sighed  Jo,  finding  that 
emotions  were  more  unmanageable  than  she  expected. 
“You  haven’t  heard  what  I  wanted  to  tell  you.  Sit 
down  and  listen ;  for  indeed  I  want  to  do  right  and 
make  you  happy,”  she  said,  hoping  to  soothe  him  with 
a  little  reason,  which  proved  that  she  knew  nothing 
about  love. 

Seeing  a  ray  of  hope  in  that  last  speech,  Laurie  threw 
himself  down  on  the  grass  at  her  feet,  leaned  his  arm 
on  the  lower  step  of  the  stile,  and  looked  up  at  her  with 
an  expectant  face.  Now  that  arrangement  was  not  con¬ 
ducive  to  calm  speech  or  clear  thought  on  Jo’s  part; 
for  how  could  she  say  hard  things  to  her  boy  while  he 
watched  her  with  eyes  full  of  love  and  longing,  and 
lashes  still  wet  with  the  bitter  drop  or  two  her  hardness 
of  heart  had  wrung  from  him?  She  gently  turned  his 
head  away,  saying,  as  she  stroked  the  wavy  hair  which 
had  been  allowed  to  grow  for  her  sake,  —  how  touching 
that  was,  to  be  sure  !  — • 

“  I  agree  with  mother  that  you  and  I  are  not  suited  to 
each  other,  because  our  quick  tempers  and  strong  wills 
would  probably  make  us  very  miserable,  if  we  were  so 
foolish  as  to  —  ”  Jo  paused  a  little  over  the  last  word, 
but  Laurie  uttered  it  with  a  rapturous  expression, — 

“  Marry, —  no,  we  should  n’t !  If  you  loved  me,  Jo, 
I  should  be  a  perfect  saint,  for  you  could  make  me 
anything  you  like.” 

“  No,  I  can’t.  I ’ve  tried  it  and  failed,  and  I  won’t 
risk  our  happiness  by  such  a  serious  experiment.  We 


Little  Women 


+58 

don’t  agree  and  we  never  shall ;  so  we  ’ll  be  good  friends 
all  our  lives,  but  we  won’t  go  and  do  anything  rash.” 

“  Yes,  we  will  if  we  get  the  chance,”  muttered  Laurie 
rebelliously. 

“  Now  do  be  reasonable,  and  take  a  sensible  view  of 
the  case,”  implored  Jo,  almost  at  her  wit’s  end. 

“  I  won’t  be  reasonable ;  I  don’t  want  to  take  what 
you  call  ‘  a  sensible  view;  ’  it  won’t  help  me,  and  it  only 
makes  you  harder.  I  don’t  believe  you ’ve  got  any 
heart.” 

“  I  wish  I  had  n’t ! 

There  was  a  little  quiver  in  Jo’s  voice,  and,  thinking 
it  a  good  omen,  Laurie  turned  round,  bringing  all  his 
persuasive  powers  to  bear  as  he  said,  in  the  wheedle- 
some  tone  that  had  never  been  so  dangerously  whee- 
dlesome  before,  — 

“  Don’t  disappoint  us,  dear  !  Every  one  expects  it. 
Grandpa  has  set  his  heart  upon  it,  your  people  like  it, 
and  I  can’t  get  on  without  you.  Say  you  will,  and  let ’s 
be  happy.  Do,  do  ! 

Not  until  months  afterward  did  Jo  understand  how 
she  had  the  strength  of  mind  to  hold  fast  to  the  resolu¬ 
tion  she  had  made  when  she  decided  that  she  did  not 
love  her  boy,  and  never  could.  It  was  very  hard  to  do, 
but  she  did  it,  knowing  that  delay  was  both  useless  and 
cruel. 

“  I  can’t  say  ‘  Yes  ’  truly,  so  I  won’t  say  it  at  all. 
You  ’ll  see  that  I ’m  right,  by  and  by,  and  thank  me  for 
it”  —  she  began  solemnly. 

“  I  ’ll  be  hanged  if  I  do  !  ”  and  Laurie  bounced  up  off 
the  grass,  burning  with  indignation  at  the  bare  idea. 

“  Yes,  you  will !  ”  persisted  Jo ;  “  you  ’ll  get  over  this 
after  a  while,  and  find  some  lovely,  accomplished  girl, 
who  will  adore  you,  and  make  a  fine  mistress  for  your 


Heartache 


459 

fine  house.  I  should  n’t.  I ’m  homely  and  awkward 
and  odd  and  old,  and  you  ’d  be  ashamed  of  me,  and  we 
should  quarrel,  —  we  can’t  help  it  even  now,  you  see,  — 
and  I  should  n’t  like  elegant  society  and  you  would,  and 
you ’d  hate  my  scribbling,  and  I  could  n’t  get  on  without 
it,  and  we  should  be  unhappy,  and  wish  we  had  n’t  done 
it,  and  everything  would  be  horrid  !  ” 

“  Anything  more?”  asked  Laurie,  finding  it  hard  to 
listen  patiently  to  this  prophetic  burst. 

“  Nothing  more,  except  that  I  don’t  believe  I  shall 
ever  marry.  I ’m  happy  as  I  am,  and  love  my  liberty 
too  well  to  be  in  any  hurry  to  give  it  up  for  any  mor¬ 
tal  man.” 

“I  know  better  !  ”  broke  in  Laurie.  “You  think  so 
now;  but  there’ll  come  a  time  when  you  will  care  for 
somebody,  and  you  ’ll  love  him  tremendously,  and  live 
and  die  for  him.  I  know  you  will,  it ’s  your  way,  and 
I  shall  have  to  stand  by  and  see  it ;  ”  and  the  despairing 
lover  cast  his  hat  upon  the  ground  with  a  gesture  that 
would  have  seemed  comical,  if  his  face  had  not  been 
so  tragical. 

“  Yes,  I  will  live  and  die  for  him,  if  he  ever  comes 
and  makes  me  love  him  in  spite  of  myself,  and  you 
must  do  the  best  you  can  !  ”  cried  Jo,  losing  patience 
with  poor  Teddy.  “  I ’ve  done  my  best,  but  you  won't 
be  reasonable,  and  it ’s  selfish  of  you  to  keep  teasing  for 
what  I  can’t  give.  I  shall  always  be  fond  of  you,  very 
fond  indeed,  as  a  friend,  but  I  ’ll  never  marry  you;  and 
the  sooner  you  believe  it  the  better  for  both  of  us,  — 
so  now  !  ” 

That  speech  was  like  fire  to  gunpowder.  Laurie  looked 
at  her  a  minute  as  if  he  did  not  quite  know  what  to  do 
with  himself,  then  turned  sharply  away,  saying,  in  a  des¬ 
perate  sort  of  tone,  — 


Little  Women 


460 

“  You  ’ll  be  sorry  some  day,  Jo/’ 

“Oh,  where  are  you  going?  ”  she  cried,  for  his  face 
frightened  her. 

“  To  the  devil !  ”  was  the  consoling  answer. 

For  a  minute  Jo’s  heart  stood  still,  as  he  swung  him¬ 
self  down  the  bank,  toward  the  river;  but  it  takes  much 
folly,  sin,  or  misery  to  send  a  young  man  to  a  violent 
death,  and  Laurie  was  not  one  of  the  weak  sort  who  are 
conquered  by  a  single  failure.  He  had  no  thought  of 
a  melodramatic  plunge,  but  some  blind  instinct  led  him 
to  fling  hat  and  coat  into  his  boat,  and  row  away  with 
all  his  might,  making  better  time  up  the  river  than  he 
had  done  in  many  a  race.  Jo  drew  a  long  breath  and 
unclasped  her  hands  as  she  watched  the  poor  fellow 
trying  to  outstrip  the  trouble  which  he  carried  in  his 
heart. 

“  That  will  do  him  good,  and  he  ’ll  come  home  in  such 
a  tender,  penitent  state  of  mind,  that  I  sha’n’t  dare  to  see 
him,”  she  said  ;  adding,  as  she  went  slowly  home,  feeling 
as  if  she  had  murdered  some  innocent  thing,  and  buried 
it  under  the  leaves, — - 

“  Now  I  must  go  and  prepare  Mr.  Laurence  to  be  very 
kind  to  my  poor  boy.  I  wish  he ’d  love  Beth;  perhaps 
he  may,  in  time,  but  I  begin  to  think  I  was  mistaken 
about  her.  Oh  dear  !  how  can  girls  like  to  have  lovers 
and  refuse  them.  I  think  it ’s  dreadful.” 

Being  sure  that  no  one  could  do  it  so  well  as  herself, 
she  went  straight  to  Mr.  Laurence,  told  the  hard  story 
bravely  through,  and  then  broke  down,  crying  so  dis¬ 
mally  over  her  own  insensibility  that  the  kind  old  gentle¬ 
man,  though  sorely  disappointed,  did  not  utter  a  reproach. 
He  found  it  difficult  to  understand  how  any  girl  could 
help  loving  Laurie,  and  hoped  she  would  change  her 
mind,  but  he  knew  even  better  than  Jo  that  love  cannot 


Heartache 


461 

be  forced,  so  he  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  resolved  to 
carry  his  boy  out  of  harm’s  way;  for  Young  Impetu¬ 
osity’s  parting  words  to  Jo  disturbed  him  more  than  he 
would  confess. 

When  Laurie  came  home,  dead  tired,  but  quite  com¬ 
posed,  his  grandfather  met  him  as  if  he  knew  nothing,  and 
kept  up  the  delusion  very  successfully  for  an  hour  or  two. 
But  when  they  sat  together  in  the  twilight,  the  time  they 
used  to  enjoy  so  much,  it  was  hard  work  for  the  old  man 
to  ramble  on  as  usual,  and  harder  still  for  the  young  one 
to  listen  to  praises  of  the  last  year’s  success,  which  to  him 
now  seemed  love’s  labor  lost.  He  bore  it  as  long  as  he 
could,  then  went  to  his  piano,  and  began  to  play.  The 
windows  were  open  ;  and  Jo,  walking  in  the  garden  with 
Beth,  for  once  understood  music  better  than  her  sister, 
for  he  played  the  “  Sonata  Pathetique,”  and  played  it  as 
he  never  did  before. 

“  That ’s  very  fine,  I  dare  say,  but  it’s  sad  enough  to 
make  one  cry;  give  us  something  gayer,  lad,”  said  Mr. 
Laurence,  whose  kind  old  heart  was  full  of  sympathy, 
which  he  longed  to  show,  but  knew  not  how. 

Laurie  dashed  into  a  livelier  strain,  played  stormily  for 
several  minutes,  and  would  have  got  through  bravely,  if, 
in  a  momentary  lull,  Mrs.  March’s  voice  had  not  been 
heard  calling,  — 

“  Jo,  dear,  come  in;  I  want  you.” 

Just  what  Laurie  longed  to  say,  with  a  different  mean¬ 
ing  !  As  he  listened,  he  lost  his  place ;  the  music  ended 
with  a  broken  chord,  and  the  musician  sat  silent  in  the 
dark. 

“  I  can’t  stand  this,”  muttered  the  old  gentleman.  Up 
he  got,  groped  his  way  to  the  piano,  laid  a  kind  hand  on 
either  of  the  broad  shoulders,  and  said,  as  gently  as  a 
woman,  — • 


Little  Women 


462 

“I  know,  my  boy,  I  know.” 

No  answer  for  an  instant ;  then  Laurie  asked  sharply,  — 

“  Who  told  you  ?  ” 

“Jo  herself.” 

“  Then  there ’s  an  end  of  it !  ”  and  he  shook  off  his 
grandfather’s  hands  with  an  impatient  motion  ;  for,  though 
grateful  for  the  sympathy,  his  man’s  pride  could  not  bear 
a  man’s  pity. 

“Not  quite;  I  want  to  say  one  thing,  and  then  there 
shall  be  an  end  of  it,”  returned  Mr.  Laurence,  with  un¬ 
usual  mildness.  “You  won’t  care  to  stay  at  home  just 
now,  perhaps?  ” 

“  I  don  ’t  intend  to  run  away  from  a  girl.  Jo  can’t  pre¬ 
vent  my  seeing  her,  and  I  shall  stay  and  do  it  as  long  as 
I  like,”  interrupted  Laurie,  in  a  defiant  tone. 

“  Not  if  you  are  the  gentleman  I  think  you.  I ’m  dis¬ 
appointed,  but  the  girl  can ’t  help  it;  and  the  only  thing 
left  for  you  to  do  is  to  go  away  for  a  time.  Where  will 
you  go  ?  ” 

“  Anywhere.  I  don’t  care  what  becomes  of  me  ;  ”  and 
Laurie  got  up,  with  a  reckless  laugh,  that  grated  on  his 
grandfather’s  ear. 

“  Take  it  like  a  man,  and  don’t  do  anything  rash,  for 
God’s  sake.  Why  not  go  abroad,  as  you  planned,  and 
forget  it?” 

“  I  can’t.” 

“  But  you ’ve  been  wild  to  go,  and  I  promised  you 
should  when  you  got  through  college.” 

“  Ah,  but  I  did  n’t  mean  to  go  alone  !  ”  and  Laurie 
walked  fast  through  the  room,  with  an  expression  which 
it  was  well  his  grandfather  did  not  see. 

“  I  don’t  ask  you  to  go  alone ;  there ’s  some  one  ready 
and  glad  to  go  with  you,  anywhere  in  the  world.” 

“  Who,  sir?  ”  stopping  to  listen. 


Heartache 


4^3 


“  Myself.” 

Laurie  came  back  as  quickly  as  he  went,  and  put  out 
his  hand,  saying  huskily,  — 

“I’m  a  selfish  brute;  but  —  you  know  —  grand¬ 
father  —  ” 

“  Lord  help  me,  yes,  I  do  know,  for  I ’ve  been  through 
it  all  before,  once  in  my  own  young  days,  and  then  with 
your  father.  Now,  my  dear  boy,  just  sit  quietly  down, 
and  hear  my  plan.  It ’s  all  settled,  and  can  be  carried 
out  at  once,”  said  Mr.  Laurence,  keeping  hold  of  the 
young  man,  as  if  fearful  that  he  would  break  away,  as 
his  father  had  done  before  him. 

“Well,  sir,  what  is  it?  ”  and  Laurie  sat  down,  without 
a  sign  of  interest  in  face  or  voice, 

“  There  is  business  in  London  that  needs  looking  after ; 
I  meant  you  should  attend  to  it;  but  I  can  do  it  better 
myself,  and  things  here  will  get  on  very  well  with  Brooke 
to  manage  them.  My  partners  do  almost  everything; 
I ’m  merely  holding  on  till  you  take  my  place,  and  can  be 
off  at  any  time.” 

“But  you  hate  travelling,  sir;  I  can’t  ask  it  of  you 
at  your  age,”  began  Laurie,  who  was  grateful  for  the 
sacrifice,  but  much  preferred  to  go  alone,  if  he  went 
at  all. 

The  old  gentleman  knew  that  perfectly  well,  and  par¬ 
ticularly  desired  to  prevent  it;  for  the  mood  in  which  he 
found  his  grandson  assured  him  that  it  would  not  be  wise 
to  leave  him  to  his  own  devices.  So,  stifling  a  natural 
regret  at  the  thought  of  the  home  comforts  he  would 
leave  behind  him,  he  said  stoutly,  — 

“  Bless  your  soul,  I ’m  not  superannuated  yet.  I  quite 
enjoy  the  idea;  it  will  do  me  good,  and  my  old  bones 
won’t  suffer  for  travelling  nowadays  is  almost  as  easy  as 
sitting  in  a  chair.” 


Little  Women 


464 

A  restless  movement  from  Laurie  suggested  that  his 
chair  was  not  easy,  or  that  he  did  not  like  the  plan,  and 
made  the  old  man  add  hastily,  — 

“  I  don’t  mean  to  be  a  marplot  or  a  burden ;  I  go  be¬ 
cause  I  think  you ’d  feel  happier  than  if  I  was  left  behind. 
I  don’t  intend  to  gad  about  with  you,  but  leave  you  free  to 
go  where  you  like,  while  I  amuse  myself  in  my  own  way. 
I ’ve  friends  in  London  and  Paris,  and  should  like  to  visit 
them ;  meantime  you  can  go  to  Italy,  Germany,  Switzer¬ 
land,  where  you  will,  and  enjoy  pictures,  music,  scenery, 
and  adventures  to  your  heart’s  content.” 

Now,  Laurie  felt  just  then  that  his  heart  was  entirely 
broken,  and  the  world  a  howling  wilderness;  but  at  the 
sound  of  certain  words  which  the  old  gentleman  artfully 
introduced  into  his  closing  sentence,  the  broken  heart 
gave  an  unexpected  leap,  and  a  green  oasis  or  two  sud¬ 
denly  appeared  in  the  howling  wilderness.  He  sighed, 
and  then  said,  in  a  spiritless  tone, — 

“Just  as  you  like,  sir;  it  doesn’t  matter  where  I  go 
or  what  I  do.” 

“  It  does  to  me,  remember  that,  my  lad ;  I  give  you 
entire  liberty,  but  I  trust  you  to  make  an  honest  use  of 
it.  Promise  me  that,  Laurie.” 

“  Anything  you  like,  sir.” 

“  Good,”  thought  the  old  gentleman.  “  You  don’t 
care  now,  but  there  ’ll  come  a  time  when  that  promise 
will  keep  you  out  of  mischief,  or  I ’m  much  mistaken.” 

Being  an  energetic  individual,  Mr.  Laurence  struck 
while  the  iron  was  hot;  and  before  the  blighted  being 
recovered  spirit  enough  to  rebel,  they  were  off.  During 
the  time  necessary  for  preparation,  Laurie  bore  himself 
as  young  gentlemen  usually  do  in  such  cases.  He  was 
moody,  irritable,  and  pensive  by  turns  ;  lost  his  appe¬ 
tite,  neglected  his  dress,  and  devoted  much  time  to  play- 


Heartache 


465 

mg  tempestuously  on  his  piano  ;  avoided  Jo,  but  con¬ 
soled  himself  by  staring  at  her  from  his  window,  with  a 
tragical  face  that  haunted  her  dreams  by  night,  and 
oppressed  her  with  a  heavy  sense  of  guilt  by  day.  Un¬ 
like  some  sufferers,  he  never  spoke  of  his  unrequited 
passion,  and  would  allow  no  one,  not  even  Mrs.  March, 
to  attempt  consolation  or  offer  sympathy.  On  some 
,  accounts,  this  was  a  relief  to  his  friends ;  but  the  weeks 
before  his  departure  were  very  uncomfortable,  and 
every  one  rejoiced  that  the  “  poor,  dear  fellow  was  go¬ 
ing  away  to  forget  his  trouble,  and  come  home  happy.” 
Of  course,  he  smiled  darkly  at  their  delusion,  but 
passed  it  by,  with  the  sad  superiority  of  one  who  knew 
that  his  fidelity,  like  his  love,  was  unalterable. 

When  the  parting  came  he  affected  high  spirits,  to 
conceal  certain  inconvenient  emotions  which  seemed 
inclined  to  assert  themselves.  This  gayety  did  not 
impose  upon  anybody,  but  they  tried  to  look  as  if  it 
did,  for  his  sake,  and  he  got  on  very  well  till  Mrs. 
March  kissed  him,  with  a  whisper  full  of  motherly  solic¬ 
itude ;  then,  feeling  that  he  was  going  very  fast,  he 
hastily  embraced  them  all  round,  not  forgetting  the 
afflicted  Hannah,  and  ran  downstairs  as  if  for  his  life. 
Jo  followed  a  minute  after  to  wave  her  hand  to  him  if  he 
looked  round.  He  did  look  round,  came  back,  put  his 
arms  about  her,  as  she  stood  on  the  step  above  him, 
and  looked  up  at  her  with  a  face  that  made  his  short 
appeal  both  eloquent  and  pathetic. 

“  O  Jo,  can’t  you  ?  ” 

“  Teddy,  dear,  I  wish  I  could  !  ” 

That  was  all,  except  a  little  pause;  then  Laurie 
straightened  himself  up,  said,  “  It ’s  all  right,  never 
mind,”  and  went  away  without  another  word.  Ah,  but 
it  was  n’t  all  right,  and  Jo  did  mind ;  for  while  the  curly 

30 


Little  Women 


466 

head  lay  on  her  arm  a  minute  after  her  hard  answer,  she 
felt  as  if  she  had  stabbed  her  dearest  friend ;  and  when 
he  left  her  without  a  look  behind  him,  she  knew  that 
the  boy  Laurie  never  would  come  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

BETH’S  SECRET 

WHEN  Jo  came  home  that  spring,  she  had 
been  struck  with  the  change  in  Beth.  No 
one  spoke  of  it  or  seemed  aware  of  it,  for  it 
had  come  too  gradually  to  startle  those  who  saw  her 
daily;  but  to  eyes  sharpened  by  absence,  it  was  very 
plain ;  and  a  heavy  weight  fell  on  Jo’s  heart  as  she  saw 
her  sister’s  face.  It  was  no  paler  and  but  little  thinner 
than  in  the  autumn ;  yet  there  was  a  strange,  trans¬ 
parent  look  about  it,  as  if  the  mortal  was  being  slowly 
refined  away,  and  the  immortal  shining  through  the 
frail  flesh  with  an  indescribably  pathetic  beauty.  Jo 
saw  and  felt  it,  but  said  nothing  at  the  time,  and  soon 
the  first  impression  lost  much  of  its  power  ;  for  Beth 
seemed  happy,  no  one  appeared  to  doubt  that  she  was 
better  ;  and,  presently,  in  other  cares,  Jo  for  a  time  for¬ 
got  her  fear. 

But  when  Laurie  was  gone,  and  peace  prevailed  again, 
the  vague  anxiety  returned  and  haunted  her.  She  had 
confessed  her  sins  and  been  forgiven  ;  but  when  she 
showed  her  savings  and  proposed  the  mountain  trip, 
Beth  had  thanked  her  heartily,  but  begged  not  to  go 
so  far  from  home.  Another  little  visit  to  the  seashore 
would  suit  her  better,  and,  as  grandma  could  not  be  pre¬ 
vailed  upon  to  leave  the  babies,  Jo  took  Beth  down  to 


Beth’s  Secret 


467 

the  quiet  place,  where  she  could  live  much  in  the 
open  air,  and  let  the  fresh  sea-breezes  blow  a  little  color 
into  her  pale  cheeks. 

It  was  not  a  fashionable  place,  but,  even  among  the 
pleasant  people  there,  the  girls  made  few  friends,  pre¬ 
ferring  to  live  for  one  another.  Beth  was  too  shy  to 
enjoy  society,  and  Jo  too  wrapped  up  in  her  to  care  for 
any  one  else ;  so  they  were  all  in  all  to  each  other,  and 
came  and  went,  quite  unconscious  of  the  interest  they 
excited  in  those  about,  them,  who  watched  with  sympa¬ 
thetic  eyes  the  strong  sister  and  the  feeble  one,  always 
together,  as  if  they  felt  instinctively  that  along  separa¬ 
tion  was  not  far  away. 

They  did  feel  it,  yet  neither  spoke  of  it  ;  for  often 
between  ourselves  and  those  nearqst  and  dearest  to  us 
there  exists  a  reserve  which  it  is  very  hard  to  overcome. 
Jo  felt  as  if  a  veil  had  fallen  between  her  heart  and  Beth’s  ; 
but  when  she  put  out  her  hand  to  lift  it  up,  there  seemed 
something  sacred  in  the  silence,  and  she  waited  for  Beth 
to  speak.  She  wondered,  and  was  thankful  also,  that 
her  parents  did  not  seem  to  see  what  she  saw  ;  and, 
during  the  quiet  weeks,  when  the  shadow  grew  so  plain 
to  her,  she  said  nothing  of  it  to  those  at  home,  believing 
that  it  would  tell  itself  when  Beth  came  back  no  better. 
She  wondered  still  more  if  her  sister  really  guessed 
the  hard  truth,  and  what  thoughts  were  passing  through 
her  mind  during  the  long  hours  when  she  lay  on  the 
warm  rocks,  with  her  head  in  Jo’s  lap,  while  the  winds 
blew  healthfully  over  her,  and  the  sea  made  music  at  her 
feet. 

One  day  Beth  told  her.  Jo  thought  she  was  asleep, 
she  lay  so  still ;  and,  putting  down  her  book,  sat  looking 
at  her  with  wistful  eyes,  trying  to  see  signs  of  hope  in 
the  faint  color  on  Beth’s  cheeks.  But  she  could  not  find 


Little  Women 


468 

enough  to  satisfy  her,  for  the  cheeks  were  very  thin,  and 
the  hands  seemed  too  feeble  to  hold  even  the  rosy  little 
shells  they  had  been  gathering.  It  came  to  her  then 
more  bitterly  than  ever  that  Beth  was  slowly  drifting  away 
from  her,  and  her  arms  instinctively  tightened  their  hold 
upon  the  dearest  treasure  she  possessed.  For  a  minute 
her  eyes  were  too  dim  for  seeing,  and,  when  they  cleared, 
Beth  was  looking  up  at  her  so  tenderly  that  there  was 
hardly  any  need  for  her  to  say,  — 

“  Jo,  dear,  I  ’m  glad  you  know  it.  I ’ve  tried  to  tell 
you,  but  I  could  n’t.” 

There  was  no  answer  except  her  sister’s  cheek  against 
her  own,  not  even  tears ;  for  when  most  deeply  moved, 
Jo  did  not  cry.  She  was  the  weaker,  then,  and  Beth 
tried  to  comfort  and  sustain  her,  with  her  arms  about 
her,  and  the  soothing  words  she  whispered  in  her  ear.  ' 

“  I ’ve  known  it  for  a  good  while,  dear,  and,  now  I’ m 
used  to  it,  it  is  n’t  hard  to  think  of  or  to  bear.  Try  to 
see  it  so,  and  don’t  be  troubled  about  me,  because  it ’s 
best ;  indeed  it  is.” 

“  Is  this  what  made  you  so  unhappy  in  the  autumn, 
Beth?  You  did  not  feel  it  then,  and  keep  it  to  yourself 
so  long,  did  you?  ”  asked  Jo,  refusing  to  see  or  say  that 
it  was  best,  but  glad  to  know  that  Laurie  had  no  part  in 
Beth’s  trouble. 

“  Yes,  I  gave  up  hoping  then,  but  I  did  n’t  like  to  own 
it.  I  tried  to  think  it  was  a  sick  fancy,  and  would  not 
let  it  trouble  any  one.  But  when  I  saw  you  all  so  well 
and  strong,  and  full  of  happy  plans,  it  was  hard  to  feel 
that  I  could  never  be  like  you,  and  then  I  was  miserable, 
Jo.” 

“  O  Beth,  and  you  did  n’t  tell  me,  did  n’t  let  me  com¬ 
fort  and  help  you  !  How  could  you  shut  me  out,  and 
bear  it  all  alone?” 


Beth’s  Secret  469 

Jo’  s  voice  was  full  of  tender  reproach,  and  her  heart 
ached  to  think  of  the  solitary  struggle  that  must  have 
gone  on  while  Beth  learned  to  say  good-by  to  health, 
love,  and  life,  and  take  up  her  cross  so  cheerfully. 

“Perhaps  it  was  wrong,  but  I  tried  to  do  right;  I 
was  n’t  sure,  no  one  said  anything,  and  I  hoped  I  was 
mistaken.  It  would  have  been  selfish  to  frighten  you  all 
when  Marmee  was  so  anxious  about  Meg,  and  Amy 
away,  and  you  so  happy  with  Laurie,  —  at  least,  I 
thought  so  then.” 

“  And  I  thought  that  you  loved  him,  Beth,  and  I  went 
away  because  I  could  n’t,”  cried  Jo,  glad  to  say  all  the 
truth. 

Beth  looked  so  amazed  at  the  idea  that  Jo  smiled  in 
spite  of  her  pain,  and  added  softly, — 

“  Then  you  did  n’t,  deary?  I  was  afraid  it  was  so,  and 
imagined  your  poor  little  heart  full  of  love-lornity  all 
that  while.” 

“  Why,  Jo,  how  could  I,  when  he  was  so  fond  of  you  ?  ” 
asked  Beth,  as  innocently  as  a  child.  “  I  do  love  him 
dearly;  he  is  so  good  to  me,  how  can  I  help  it?  But 
he  never  could  be  anything  to  me  but  my  brother.  I 
hope  he  truly  will  be,  sometime.” 

“  Not  through  me,”  said  Jo  decidedly.  “  Amy  is  left 
for  him,  and  they  would  suit  excellently;  but  I  have  no 
heart  for  such  things,  now.  I  don’t  care  what  becomes 
of  anybody  but  you,  Beth.  You  must  get  well.” 

“  I  want  to,  oh,  so  much  !  I  try,  but  every  day  I  lose 
a  little,  and  feel  more  sure  that  I  shall  never  gain  it  back. 
It ’s  like  the  tide,  Jo,  when  it  turns,  it  goes  slowly,  but  it 
can’t  be  stopped.” 

“  It  shall  be  stopped,  your  tide  must  not  turn  so  soon, 
nineteen  is  too  young.  Beth,  I  can’t  let  you  go.  1  ’ll 
work  and  pray  and  fight  against  it.  I  ’ll  keep  you  in 


Little  Women 


47° 

spite  of  everything;  there  must  be  ways,  it  can’t  be  too 
late.  God  won’t  be  so  cruel  as  to  take  you  from  me,” 
cried  poor  Jo  rebelliously,  for  her  spirit  was  far  less 
piously  submissive  than  Beth’s. 

Simple,  sincere  people  seldom  speak  much  of  their 
piety ;  it  shows  itself  in  acts,  rather  than  in  words,  and 
has  more  influence  than  homilies  or  protestations.  Beth 
could  not  reason  upon  or  explain  the  faith  that  gave  her 
courage  and  patience  to  give  up  life,  and  cheerfully  wait 
for  death.  Like  a  confiding  child,  she  asked  no  ques¬ 
tions,  but  left  everything  to  God  and  nature,  Father  and 
mother  of  us  all,  feeling  sure  that  they,  and  they  only, 
could  teach  and  strengthen  heart  and  spirit  for  this  life 
and  the  life  to  come.  She  did  not  rebuke  Jo  with  saintly 
speeches,  only  loved  her  better  for  her  passionate  affec¬ 
tion,  and  clung  more  closely  to  the  dear  human  love, 
from  which  our  Father  never  means  us  to  be  weaned, 
but  through  which  He  draws  us  closer  to  Himself.  She 
could  not  say,  “  I ’m  glad  to  go,”  for  life  was  very  sweet 
to  her;  she  could  only  sob  out,  “I  try  to  be  willing,” 
while  she  held  fast  to  Jo,  as  the  first  bitter  wave  of  this 
great  sorrow  broke  over  them  together. 

By  and  by  Beth  said,  with  recovered  serenity, — 

“  You  ’ll  tell  them  this  when  we  go  home?  ” 

“I  think  they  will  see  it  without  words,”  sighed  Jo; 
for  now  it  seemed  to  her  that  Beth  changed  every 
day. 

“  Perhaps  not ;  I  Ve  heard  that  the  people  who  love 
best  are  often  blindest  to  such  things.  If  they  don’t  see 
it,  you  will  tell  them  for  me.  I  don’t  want  any  secrets, 
and  it ’s  kinder  to  prepare  them.  Meg  has  John  and  the 
babies  to  comfort  her,  but  you  must  stand  by  father  and 
mother,  won’t  you,  Jo?  ” 

4‘ If  I  can;  but,  Beth,  I  don’t  give  up  yet;  I’m  going 


Beth’s  Secret 


47* 

to  believe  that  it  is  a  sick  fancy,  and  not  let  you  think 
it’s  true,”  said  Jo,  trying  to  speak  cheerfully. 

Beth  lay  a  minute  thinking,  and  then  said  in  her  quiet 
way,  — 

“I  don’t  know  how  to  express  myself,  and  shouldn’t 
try  to  any  one  but  you,  because  I  can’t  speak  out,  except 
to  my  Jo.  I  only  mean  to  say  that  I  have  a.feeling  that 
it  never  was  intended  I  should  live  long.  I ’m  not  like 
the  rest  of  you ;  I  never  made  any  plans  about  what  I ’d 
do  when  I  grew  up ;  I  never  thought  of  being  married, 
as  you  all  did.  I  could  n’t  seem  to  imagine  myself  any¬ 
thing  but  stupid  little  Beth,  trotting  about  at  home,  of 
no  use  anywhere  but  there.  I  never  wanted  to  go  away, 
and  the  hard  part  now  is  the  leaving  you  all.  I’m  not 
afraid,  but  it  seems  as  if  I  should  be  homesick  for  you 
even  in  heaven.” 

Jo  could  not  speak  ;  and  for  several  minutes  there  was 
no  sound  but  the  sigh  of  the  wind  and  the  lapping  of  the 
tide.  A  white-winged  gull  flew  by,  with  the  flash  of  sun, 
shine  on  its  silvery  breast ;  Beth  watched  it  till  it  vanished, 
and  her  eyes  were  full  of  sadness.  A  little  gray-coated 
sand-bird  came  tripping  over  the  beach,  “  peeping  ” 
softly  to  itself,  as  if  enjoying  the  sun  and  sea;  it  came 
quite  close  to  Beth,  looked  at  her  with  a  friendly  eye,  and 
sat  upon  a  warm  stone,  dressing  its  wet  feathers,  quite 
at  home.  Beth  smiled,  and  felt  comforted,  for  the  tiny 
thing  seemed  to  offer  its  small  friendship,  and  remind  her 
that  a  pleasant  world  was  still  to  be  enjoyed. 

“  Dear  little  bird  !  See,  Jo,  how  tame  it  is.  I  like 
peeps  better  than  the  gulls :  they  are  not  so  wild  and 
handsome,  but  they  seem  happy,  confiding  little  things. 

I  used  to  call  them  my  birds,  last  summer ;  and  mother 
said  they  reminded  her  of  me,  —  busy,  quaker-colored 
creatures,  always  near  the  shore,  and  always  chirping 


Little  Women 


472 

that  contented  little  song  of  theirs.  You  are  the  gull, 
Jo,  strong  and  wild,  fond  of  the  storm  and  the  wind, 
flying  far  out  to  sea,  and  happy  all  alone.  Meg  is  the 
turtle-dove,  and  Amy  is  like  the  lark  she  writes  about, 
trying  to  get  up  among  the  clouds,  but  always  dropping 
down  into  its  nest  again.  Dear  little  girl!  she’s  so 
ambitious,  but  her  heart  is  good  and  tender;  and  no 
matter  how  high  she  flics,  she  never  will  forget  home. 
I  hope  I  shall  see  her  again,  but  she  seems  so  far 
away.” 

“  She  is  coming  in  the  spring,  and  I  mean  that  you 
shall  be  all  ready  to  see  and  enjoy  her.  I ’m  going  to 
have  you  well  and  rosy  by  that  time,”  began  Jo,  feeling 
that  of  all  the  changes  in  Beth,  the  talking  change  was 
the  greatest,  for  it  seemed  to  cost  no  effort  now,  and  she 
thought  aloud  in  a  way  quite  unlike  bashful  Beth. 

“Jo,  dear,  don’t  hope  any  more;  it  won’t  do  any 
good,  I ’m  sure  of  that.  We  won’t  be  miserable,  but 
enjoy  being  together  while  we  wait.  We  ’ll  have  happy 
times,  for  I  don’t  suffer  much,  and  I  think  the  tide  will 
go  out  easily,  if  you  help  me.” 

Jo  leaned  down  to  kiss  the  tranquil  face;  and  with 
that  silent  kiss,  she  dedicated  herself  soul  and  body  to 
Beth. 

She  was  right:  there  was  no  need  of  any  words  when 
they  got  home,  for  father  and  mother  saw  plainly,  now, 
what  they  had  prayed  to  be  saved  from  seeing.  Tired 
with  her  short  journey,  Beth  went  at  once  to  bed,  saying 
how  glad  she  was  to  be  at  home;  and  when  Jo  went 
down,  she  found  that  she  would  be  spared  the  hard  task 
of  telling  Beth’s  secret.  Her  father  stood  leaning  his 
head  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  did  not  turn  as  she  came 
in ;  but  her  mother  stretched  out  her  arms  as  if  for  help, 
and  Jo  went  to  comfort  her  without  a  word. 


New  Impressions 


473 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

NEW  IMPRESSIONS 

AT  three  o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  all  the  fashion¬ 
able  world  at  Nice  may  be  seen  on  the  Prom¬ 
enade  des  Anglais,  —  a  charming  place;  for 
the  wide  walk,  bordered  with  palms,  flowers,  and  tropical 
shrubs,  is  bounded  on  one  side  by  the  sea,  on  the  other 
by  the  grand  drive,  lined  with  hotels  and  villas,  while 
beyond  lie  orange-orchards  and  the  hills.  Many  nations 
are  represented,  many  languages  spoken,  many  costumes 
worn  ;  and,  on  a  sunny  day,  the  spectacle  is  as  gay  and 
brilliant  as  a  carnival.  Haughty  English,  lively  French, 
sober  Gormans,  handsome  Spaniards,  ugly  Russians, 
meek  Jews,  free-and-easy  Americans,  all  drive,  sit,  or 
saunter  here,  chatting  over  the  news,  and  criticising  the 
latest  celebrity  who  has  arrived,  —  Ristori  or  Dickens, 
Victor  Emmanuel  or  the  Oueen  of  the  Sandwich  Islands. 
The  equipages  are  as  varied  as  the  company,  and  attract 
as  much  attention,  especially  the  low  basket-barouches 
in  which  ladies  drive  themselves,  with  a  pair  of  dashing 
ponies,  gay  nets  to  keep  their  voluminous  flounces  from 
overflowing  the  diminutive  vehicles,  and  little  grooms  on 
the  perch  behind. 

Along  this  walk,  on  Christmas  Day,  a  tall  young  man 
walked  slowly,  with  his  hands  behind  him,  and  a  some¬ 
what  absent  expression  of  countenance.  He  looked  like 
an  Italian,  was  dressed  like  an  Englishman,  and  had  the 
independent  air  of  an  American,  —  a  combination  which 
caused  sundry  pairs  of  feminine  eyes  to  look  approvingly 
after  him,  and  sundry  dandies  in  black  velvet  suits,  with 
rose-colored  neckties,  buff  gloves,  and  orange-flowers  in 


Little  Women 


4-74 

their  button-holes,  to  shrug  their  shoulders,  and  then 
envy  him  his  inches.  There  were  plenty  of  pretty  faces 
to  admire,  but  the  young  man  took  little  notice  of  them, 
except  to  glance,  now  and  then,  at  some  blonde  girl,  or 
lady  in  blue.  Presently  he  strolled  out  of  the  prome¬ 
nade,  and  stood  a  moment  at  the  crossing,  as  if  unde¬ 
cided  whether  to  go  and  listen  to  the  band  in  the  Jardin 
Publique,  or  to  wander  along  the  beach  toward  Castle 
Hill.  The  quick  trot  of  ponies’  feet  made  him  look  up, 
as  one  of  the  little  carriages,  containing  a  single  lady, 
came  rapidly  down  the  street.  The  lady  was  young, 
blonde,  and  dressed  in  blue.  He  stared  a  minute,  then 
his  whole  face  woke  up,  and,  waving  his  hat  like  a  boy, 
he  hurried  forward  to  meet  her. 

“  O  Laurie,  is  it  really  you?  I  thought  you’d  never 
come !  ”  cried  Amy,  dropping  the  reins,  and  holding 
out  both  hands,  to  the  great  scandalization  of  a  French 
mamma,  who  hastened  her  daughter’s  steps,  lest  she 
should  be  demoralized  by  beholding  the  free  manners 
of  these  “  mad  English.” 

“  I  was  detained  by  the  way,  but  I  promised  to  spend 
Christmas  with  you,  and  here  I  am.” 

“  How  is  your  grandfather  ?  When  did  you  come  ? 
Where  are  you  staying  ?  ” 

“  Very  well  — -  last  night  —  at  the  Chauvain.  I  called 
at  your  hotel,  but  you  were  all  out.” 

“  I  have  so  much  to  say,  I  don’t  know  where  to 
begin !  Get  in,  and  we  can  talk  at  our  ease ;  I  was 
going  for  a  drive,  and  longing  for  company.  Flo’s 
saving  up  for  to-night.” 

“  What  happens  then,  a  ball  ?” 

“  A  Christmas  party  at  our  hotel.  There  are  many 
Americans  there,  and  they  give  it  in  honor  of  the  day 
You  ’ll  go  with  us,  of  course  ?  Aunt  will  be  charmed.” 


New  Impressions  475 

“  Thank  you.  Where  now  ?  ”  asked  Laurie,  leaning 
back  and  folding  his  arms,  a  proceeding  which  suited 
Amy,  who  preferred  to  drive ;  for  her  parasol-whip  and 
blue  reins  over  the  white  ponies’  backs,  afforded  her  in¬ 
finite  satisfaction. 

“  I  ’m  going  to  the  banker’s  first,  for  letters,  and  then 
to  Castle  Hill ;  the  view  is  so  lovely,  and  I  like  to  feed 
the  peacocks.  Have  you  ever  been  there  ?  ” 

“  Often,  years  ago ;  but  I  don’t  mind  having  a  look 
at  it.” 

“  Now  tell  me  all  about  yourself.  The  last  I  heard  of 
you,  your  grandfather  wrote  that  he  expected  you  from 
Berlin.” 

“Yes,  I  spent  a  month  there,  and  then  joined  him 
in  Paris,  where  he  has  settled  for  the  winter.  He  has 
friends  there,  and  finds  plenty  to  amuse  him ;  so  I  go 
and  come,  and  we  get  on  capitally.” 

“  That ’s  a  sociable  arrangement,”  said  Amy,  missing 
something  in  Laurie’s  manner,  though  she  could  n’t  tell 
what. 

“  Why,  you  see  he  hates  to  travel,  and  I  hate  to  keep 
still ;  so  we  each  suit  ourselves,  and  there  is  no  trouble. 
I  am  often  with  him,  and  he  enjoys  my  adventures,  while 
I  like  to  feel  that  some  one  is  glad  to  see  me  when  I 
get  back  from  my  wanderings.  Dirty  old  hole,  is  n’t 
it  ?”  he  added,  with  a  look  of  disgust,  as  they  drove 
along  the  boulevard  to  the  Place  Napoleon,  in  the  old 
city. 

“The  dirt  is  picturesque,  so  I  don’t  mind.  The  river 
and  the  hills  are  delicious,  and  these  glimpses  of  the 
narrow  cross-streets  are  my  delight.  Now  we  shall  have 
to  wait  for  that  procession  to  pass;  it’s  going  to  the 
Church  of  St.  John.” 

While  Laurie  listlessly  watched  the  procession  of 


Little  Women 


476 

priests  under  their  canopies,  white-veiled  nuns  bearing 
lighted  tapers,  and  some  brotherhood  in  blue,  chanting 
as  they  walked,  Amy  watched  him,  and  felt  a  new  sort 
of  shyness  steal  over  her;  for  he  was  changed,  and  she 
could  not  find  the  merry-faced  boy  she  left  in  the 
moody-looking  man  beside  her.  He  was  handsomer 
than  ever,  and  greatly  improved,  she  thought;  but  now 
that  the  flush  of  pleasure  at  meeting  her  was  over,  he 
looked  tired  and  spiritless,  —  not  sick,  nor  exactly 
unhappy,  but  older  and  graver  than  a  year  or  two  of 
prosperous  life  should  have  made  him.  She  could  n’t 
understand  it,  and  did  not  venture  to  ask  questions;  so 
she  shook  her  head,  and  touched  up  her  ponies,  as  the 
procession  wound  away  across  the  arches  of  the  Paglioni 
bridge,  and  vanished  in  the  church. 

“  Que  pensez-voas?  ”  she  said,  airing  her  French, 
which  had  improved  in  quantity,;  if  not  in  quality,  since 
she  came  abroad. 

“  That  mademoiselle  has  made  good  use  of  her  time, 
and  the  result  is  charming,”  replied  Laurie-  bowing, 
with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  an  admiring  look. 

She  blushed  with  pleasure,  but  somehow  the  complh 
ment  did  not  satisfy  her  like  the  blunt  praises  he  used  to 
give  her  at  home,  when  he  promenaded  round  her  on  fes¬ 
tival  occasions,  and  told  her  she  was  “  altogether  jolly,” 
with  a  hearty  smile  and  an  approving  pat  on  the  head. 
She  did  n’t  like  the  new  tone ;  for,  though  not  blase ,  it 
sounded  indifferent  in  spite  of  the  look. 

“  If  that ’s  the  way  he  ’s  going  to  grow  up,  I  wish 
he ’d  stay  a  boy,”  she  thought,  with  a  curious  sense  of 
disappointment  and  discomfort,  trying  meantime  to  seem 
quite  easy  and  gay. 

At  Avigdor’s  she  found  the  precious  home-letters, 
and,  giving  the  reins  to  Laurie,  read  them  luxuriously 


fgg|ipfi 


9» 


New  Impressions  477 

as  they  wound  up  the  shady  road  between  green  hedges, 
where  tea-roses  bloomed  as  freshly  as  in  June. 

“  Beth  is  very  poorly,  mother  says.  I  often  think  I 
ought  to  go  home,  but  they  all  say  ‘  stay ;  ’  so  I  do,  for 
I  shall  never  have  another  chance  like  this,”  said  Amy, 
looking  sober  over  one  page. 

“  I  think  you  are  right,  there ;  you  could  do  nothing 
at  home,  and  it  is  a  great  comfort  to  them  to  know 
that  you  are  well  and  happy,  and  enjoying  so  much, 
my  dear.” 

He  drew  a  little  nearer,  and  looked  more  like  his 
old  self,  as  he  said  that ;  and  the  fear  that  sometimes 
weighed  on  Amy’s  heart  was  lightened,  for  the  look, 
the  act,  the  brotherly  “  my  dear,”  seemed  to  assure 
her  that  if  any  trouble  did  come,  she  would  not  be 
alone  in  a  strange  land.  Presently  she  laughed,  and 
showed  him  a  small  sketch  of  Jo  in  her  scribbling-suit, 
with  the  bow  rampantly  erect  upon  her  cap,  and  issuing 
from  her  mouth  the  words,  “  Genius  burns !  ” 

Laurie  smiled,  took  it,  put  it  in  his  vest-pocket,  “  to 
keep  it  from  blowing  away,”  and  listened  with,  interest 
to  the  lively  letter  Amy  read  him. 

“  This  will  be  a  regularly  merry  Christmas  to  me, 
with  presents  in  the  morning,  you  and  letters  in  the 
afternoon,  and  a  party  at  night,”  said  Amy,  as  they 
alighted  among  the  ruins  of  the  old  fort,  and  a  flock 
of  splendid  peacocks  came  trooping  about  them,  tamely 
waiting  to  be  fed.  While  Amy  stood  laughing  on  the 
bank  above  him  as  she  scattered  crumbs  to  the  brilliant 
birds,  Laurie  looked  at  her  as  she  had  looked  at  him, 
with  a  natural  curiosity  to  see  what  changes  time  and  ab¬ 
sence  had  wrought.  He  found  nothing  to  perplex  or  dis¬ 
appoint,  much  to  admire  and  approve ;  for,  overlooking 
a  few  little  affectations  of  speech  and  manner,  she  was  as 


Little  Women 


478 

sprightly  and  graceful  as  ever,  with  the  addition  of  that 
indescribable  something  in  dress  and  bearing  which  we 
call  elegance.  Always  mature  for  her  age,  she  had 
gained  a  certain  aplomb  in  both  carriage  and  conversa¬ 
tion,  which  made  her  seem  more  of  a  woman  of  the 
world  than  she  was ;  but  her  old  petulance  now  and 
then  showed  itself,  her  strong  will  still  held  its  own, 
and  her  native  frankness  was  unspoiled  by  foreign 
polish. 

Laurie  did  not  read  all  this  while  he  watched  her 
feed  the  peacocks,  but  he  saw  enough  to  satisfy  and 
interest  him,  and  carried  away  a  pretty  little  picture 
of  a  bright-faced  girl  standing  in  the  sunshine,  which 
brought  out  the  soft  hue  of  her  dress,  the  fresh  color 
of  her  cheeks,  the  golden  gloss  of  her  hair,  and  made 
her  a  prominent  figure  in  the  pleasant  scene. 

As  they  came  up  on  to  the  stone  plateau  that  crowns 
the  hill,  Amy  waved  her  hand  as  if  welcoming  him  to 
her  favorite  haunt,  and  said,  pointing  here  and  there,  — 

“  Do  you  remember  the  Cathedral  and  the  Corso,  the 
fishermen  dragging  their  nets  in  the  bay,  and  the  lovely 
road  to  Villa  Franca,  Schubert’s  Tower,  just  below,  and, 
best  of  all,  that  speck  far  out  to  sea  which  they  say  is 
Corsica?  ” 

“  I  remember;  it’s  not  much  changed,”  he  answered, 
without  enthusiasm. 

“  What  Jo  would  give  for  a  sight  of  that  famous 
speck  !  ”  said  Amy,  feeling  in  good  spirits,  and  anxious 
to  see  him  so  also. 

“  Yes,”  was  all  he  said,  but  he  turned  and  strained  his 
eyes  to  see  the  island  which  a  greater  usurper  than  even 
Napoleon  now  made  interesting  in  his  sight. 

“  Take  a  good  look  at  it  for  her  sake,  and  then  come 
and  tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing  with  yourself  all 


New  Impressions  479 

this  while,”  said  Amy,  seating  herself,  ready  for  a  good 
talk. 

But  she  did  not  get  it;  for,  though  he  joined  her,  and 
answered  all  her  questions  freely,  she  could  only  learn 
that  he  had  roved  about  the  continent  and  been  to 
Greece.  So,  after  idling  away  an  hour,  they  drove 
home  again;  and,  having  paid  his  respects  to  Mrs. 
Carrol,  Laurie  left  them,  promising  to  return  in  the 
evening. 

It  must  be  recorded  of  Amy  that  she  deliberately 
“  prinked  ”  that  night.  Time  and  absence  had  done  its 
work  on  both  the  young  people ;  she  had  seen  her  old 
friend  in  a  new  light,  not  as  “  our  boy,”  but  as  a  hand¬ 
some  and  agreeable  man,  and  she  was  conscious  of  a 
very  natural  desire  to  find  favor  in  his  sight.  Amy 
knew  her  good  points,  and  made  the  most  of  them, 
with  the  taste  and  skill  which  is  a  fortune  to  a  poor 
and  pretty  woman. 

Tarlatan  and  tulle  were  cheap  at  Nice,  so  she  envel¬ 
oped  herself  in  them  on  such  occasions,  and,  following 
the  sensible  English  fashion  of  simple  dress  for  young 
girls,  got  up  charming  little  toilettes  with  fresh  flowers, 
a  few  trinkets,  and  all  manner  of  dainty  devices,  which 
were  both  inexpensive  and  effective.  It  must  be  con¬ 
fessed  that  the  artist  sometimes  got  possession  of  the 
woman,  and  indulged  in  antique  coiffures ,  statuesque 
attitudes,  and  classic  draperies.  But,  dear  heart,  we  all 
have  our  little  weaknesses,  and  find  it  easy  to  pardon 
such  in  the  young,  who  satisfy  our  eyes  with  their 
comeliness,  and  keep  our  hearts  merry  with  their 
artless  vanities. 

“  I  do  want  him  to  think  I  look  well,  and  tell  them  so 
at  home,”  said  Amy  to  herself,  as  she  put  on  Flo’s  old 
white  silk  ball-dress,  and  covered  it  with  a  cloud  of  fresh 


Little  Women 


480 

illusion,  out  of  which  her  white  shoulders  and  golden 
head  emerged  with  a  most  artistic  effect.  Her  hair  she 
had  the  sense  to  let  alone,  after  gathering  up  the  thick 
waves  and  curls  into  a  Hebe-like  knot  at  the  back  of  her 
head. 

“  It ’s  not  the  fashion,  but  it ’s  becoming,  and  I  can’t 
afford  to  make  a  fright  of  myself,”  she  used  to  say, 
when  advised  to  frizzle,  puff,  or  braid,  as  the  latest  style 
commanded. 

Having  no  ornaments  fine  enough  for  this  important 
occasion,  Amy  looped  her  fleecy  skirts  with  rosy  clus¬ 
ters  of  azalea,  and  framed  the  white  shoulders  in  deli¬ 
cate  green  vines.  Remembering  the  painted  boots,  she 
surveyed  her  white  satin  slippers  with  girlish  satisfac¬ 
tion,  and  chasseed  down  the  room,  admiring  her  aristo¬ 
cratic  feet  all  by  herself. 

“  My  new  fan  just  matches  my  flowers,  my  gloves  fit 
to  a  charm,  and  the  real  lace  on  aunt’s  mouchoir  gives 
an  air  to  my  whole  dress.  If  I  only  had  a  classical  nose 
and  mouth  I  should  be  perfectly  happy,”  she  said,  sur¬ 
veying  herself  with  a  critical  eye,  and  a  candle  in  each 
hand. 

In  spite  of  this  affliction,  she  looked  unusually  gay 
and  graceful  as  she  glided  away;  she  seldom  ran,  —  it 
did  not  suit  her  style,  she  thought,  for,  being  tall,  the 
stately  and  Junoesque  was  more  appropriate  than  the 
sportive  or  piquante.  She  walked  up  and  down  the 
long  saloon  while  waiting  for  Laurie,  and  once  arranged 
herself  under  the  chandelier,  which  had  a  good  effect 
upon  her  hair ;  then  she  thought  better  of  it,  and  went 
away  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  as  if  ashamed  of 
the  girlish  desire  to  have  the  first  view  a  propitious 
one.  It  so  happened  that  she  could  not  have  done  a 
better  thing,  for  Laurie  came  in  so  quietly  she  did  not 


New  Impressions  48  1 

hear  him ;  and,  as  she  stood  at  the  distant  window,  with 
her  head  half  turned,  and  one  hand  gathering  up  her 
dress,  the  slender,  white  figure  against  the  red  curtains 
was  as  effective  as  a  well-placed  statue. 

“  Good  evening,  Diana  !  ”  said  Laurie,  with  the  look 
of  satisfaction  she  liked  to  see  in  his  eyes  when  they 
rested  on  her. 

“  Good  evening,  Apollo !  ”  she  answered,  smiling 
back  at  him,  for  he,  too,  looked  unusually  debonnaire , 
and  the  thought  of  entering  the  ball-room  on  the  arm 
of  such  a  personable  man  caused  Amy  to  pity  the  four 
plain  Misses  Davis  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart. 

“  Here  are  your  flowers;  I  arranged  them  myself,  re¬ 
membering  that  you  did  n’t  like  what  Hannah  calls  a 
*  sot-bookay,”’  said  Laurie,  handing  her  a  delicate  nose¬ 
gay,  in  a  holder  that  she  had  long  coveted  as  she  daily 
passed  it  in  Cardiglia’s  window. 

“  How  kind  you  are  !  ”  she  exclaimed  gratefully.  “  If 
I  ’d  known  you  were  coming  I ’d  have  had  something 
ready  for  you  to-day,  though  not  as  pretty  as  this,  I ’m 
afraid.” 

“  Thank  you  ;  it  is  n’t  what  it  should  be,  but  you  have 
improved  it,”  he  added,  as  she  snapped  the  silver  brace¬ 
let  on  her  wrist. 

“  Please  don’t.” 

“  I  thought  you  liked  that  sort  of  thing?  ” 

“Not  from  you;  it  doesn’t  sound  natural,  and  I  like 
your  old  bluntness  better.” 

“  I ’m  glad  of  it,”  he  answered,  with  a  look  of  relief ; 
then  buttoned  her  gloves  for  her,  and  asked  if  his  tie 
was  straight,  just  as  he  used  to  do  when  they  went  to 
parties  together,  at  home. 

The  company  assembled  in  the  long  salle  a  manger , 
that  evening,  was  such  as  one  sees  nowhere  but  on  the 

3* 


Little  Women 


482 

Continent.  The  hospitable  Americans  had  invited  every 
acquaintance  they  had  in  Nice,  and,  having  no  preju¬ 
dice  against  titles,  secured  a  few  to  add  lustre  to  their 
Christmas  ball. 

A  Russian  prince  condescended  to  sit  in  a  corner  for 
an  hour,  and  talk  with  a  massive  lady,  dressed  like 
Hamlet’s  mother,  in  black  velvet,  with  a  pearl  bridle 
under  her  chin.  A  Polish  count,  aged  eighteen,  de¬ 
voted  himself  to  the  ladies,  who  pronounced  him  “  a 
fascinating  dear,”  and  a  German  Serene  Something, 
having  come  for  the  supper  alone,  roamed  vaguely 
about,  seeking  what  he  might  devour.  Baron  Roths¬ 
child’s  private  secretary,  a  large-nosed  Jew,  in  tight 
boots,  affably  beamed  upon  the  world,  as  if  his  mas¬ 
ter’s  name  crowned  him  with  a  golden  halo ;  a  stout 
Frenchman,  who  knew  the  Emperor,  came  to  indulge 
his  mania  for  dancing,  and  Lady  de  Jones,  a  British 
matron,  adorned  the  scene  with  her  little  family  of  eight. 
Of  course,  there  were  many  light-footed,  shrill-voiced 
American  girls,  handsome,  lifeless-looking  English  ditto, 
and  a  few  plain  but  piquante  French  demoiselles;  like¬ 
wise  the  usual  set  of  travelling  young  gentlemen,  who 
disported  themselves  gayly,  while  mammas  of  all  nations 
lined  the  walls,  and  smiled  upon  them  benignly  when 
they  danced  with  their  daughters. 

Any  young  girl  can  imagine  Amy’s  state  of  mind 
when  she  “  took  the  stage  ”  that  night,  leaning  on 
Laurie’s  arm.  She  knew  she  looked  well,  she  loved 
to  dance,  she  felt  that  her  foot  was  on  her  native  heath 
in  a  ball-room,  and  enjoyed  the  delightful  sense  of 
power  which  comes  when  young  girls  first  discover  the 
new  and  lovely  kingdom  they  are  born  to  rule  by  vir¬ 
tue  of  beauty,  youth,  and  womanhood.  She  did  pity 
the  Davis  girls,  who  were  awkward,  plain,  and  destitute 


New  Impressions  483 

of  escort,  except  a  grim  papa  and  three  grimmer  maiden 
aunts,  and  she  bowed  to  them  in  her  friendliest  manner 
as  she  passed ;  which  was  good  of  her,  as  it  permitted 
them  to  see  her  dress,  and  burn  with  curiosity  to  know 
who  her  distinguished-looking  friend  might  be.  With 
the  first  burst  of  the  band,  Amy’s  color  rose,  her  eyes 
began  to  sparkle,  and  her  feet  to  tap  the  floor  impa¬ 
tiently;  for  she  danced  well,  and  wanted  Laurie  to 
know  it:  therefore  the  shock  she  received  can  better 
be  imagined  than  described,  when  he  said,  in  a  perfectly 
tranquil  tone,  — 

“  Do  you  care  to  dance?  ” 

“  One  usually  does  at  a  ball.” 

Her  amazed  look  and  quick  answer  caused  Laurie  to 
repair  his  error  as  fast  as  possible. 

“  I  meant  the  first  dance.  May  I  have  the  honor?” 

“  I  can  give  you  one  if  I  put  off  the  Count.  He  dances 
divinely ;  but  he  will  excuse  me,  as  you  are  an  old 
friend,”  said  Amy,  hoping  that  the  name  would  have 
a  good  effect,  and  show  Laurie  that  she  was  not  to  be 
trifled  with. 

“  Nice  little  boy,  but  rather  a  short  Pole  to  support 

“  ‘  A  daughter  of  the  gods, 

Divinely  tall,  and  most  divinely  fair,”’ 

was  all  the  satisfaction  she  got,  however. 

The  set  in  which  they  found  themselves  was  composed 
of  English,  and  Amy  was  compelled  to  walk  decorously 
through  a  cotillon,  feeling  all  the  while  as  if  she  could 
dance  the  Tarantula  with  a  relish.  Laurie  resigned  her 
to  the  “  nice  little  boy,”  and  went  to  do  his  duty  to  Flo, 
without  securing  Amy  for  the  joys  to  come,  which  repre¬ 
hensible  want  of  forethought  was  properly  punished,  fo: 
she  immediately  engaged  herself  till  supper,  meaning 


Little  Women 


484 

to  relent  if  he  then  gave  any  signs  of  penitence.  She 
showed  him  her  ball-book  with  demure  satisfaction 
when  he  strolled,  instead  of  rushing,  up  to  claim  her 
for  the  next,  a  glorious  polka-redowa ;  but  his  polite  re¬ 
grets  did  n’t  impose  upon  her,  and  when  she  gallopaded 
away  with  the  Count,  she  saw  Laurie  sit  down  by  her 
aunt  with  an  actual  expression  of  relief. 

That  was  unpardonable ;  and  Amy  took  no  more 
notice  of  him  for  a  long  while,  except  a  word  now  and 
then,  when  she  came  to  her  chaperon,  between  the 
dances,  for  a  necessary  pin  or  a  moment’s  rest.  Her 
anger  had  a  good  effect,  however,  for  she  hid  it  under  a 
smiling  face,  and  seemed  unusually  blithe  and  brilliant. 
Laurie’s  eyes  followed  her  with  pleasure,  for  she  neither 
romped  nor  sauntered,  but  danced  with  spirit  and  grace, 
making  the  delightsome  pastime  what  it  should  be.  He 
very  naturally  fell  to  studying  her  from  this  new  point 
of  view;  and,  before  the  evening  was  half  over,  had 
decided  that  “  little  Amy  was  going  to  make  a  very 
charming  woman.” 

It  was  a  lively  scene,  for  soon  the  spirit  of  the  social 
season  took  possession  of  every  one,  and  Christmas 
merriment  made  all  faces  shine,  hearts  happy,  and  heels 
light.  The  musicians  fiddled,  tooted,  and  banged  as  if 
they  enjoyed  it;  everybody  danced  who  could,  and 
those  who  could  n’t  admired  their  neighbors  with  un¬ 
common  warmth.  The  air  was  dark  with  Davises,  and 
many  Joneses  gambolled  like  a  flock  of  young  giraffes. 
The  golden  secretary  darted  through  the  room  like  a 
meteor,  with  a  dashing  Frenchwoman,  who  carpeted  the 
floor  with  her  pink  satin  train.  The  Serene  Teuton 
found  the  supper-table,  and  was  happy,  eating  steadily 
through  the  bill  of  fare,  and  dismayed  the  garments  by 
the  ravages  he  committed.  But  the  Emperor’s  friend 


New  Impressions  485 

covered  himself  with  glory,  for  he  danced  everything, 
whether  he  knew  it  or  not,  and  introduced  impromptu 
pirouettes  when  the  figures  bewildered  him.  The  boy¬ 
ish  abandon  of  that  stout  man  was  charming  to  behold  ; 
for,  though  he  “  carried  weight,”  he  danced  like  an  india- 
rubber  ball.  He  ran,  he  flew,  he  pranced ;  his  face 
glowed,  his  bald  head  shone ;  his  coat-tails  waved 
wildly,  his  pumps  actually  twinkled  in  the  air,  and  when 
the  music  stopped,  he  wiped  the  drops  from  his  brow, 
and  beamed  upon  his  fellow-men  like  a  French  Pick¬ 
wick  without  glasses. 

Amy  and  her  Pole  distinguished  themselves  by  equal 
enthusiasm,  but  more  graceful  agility;  and  Laurie  found 
himself  involuntarily  keeping  time  to  the  rhythmic  rise 
and  fall  of  the  white  slippers  as  they  flew  by  as  inde- 
fatigably  as  if  winged.  When  little  Vladimir  finally  re¬ 
linquished  her,  with  assurances  that  he  was  “  desolated 
to  leave  so  early,”  she  was  ready  to  rest,  and  see  how 
her  recreant  knight  had  borne  his  punishment. 

It  had  been  successful;  for,  at  three-and-twenty, 
blighted  affections  find  a  balm  in  friendly  society,  and 
young  nerves  will  thrill,  young  blood  dance,  and  healthy 
young  spirits  rise,  when  subjected  to  the  enchantment 
of  beauty,  light,  music,  and  motion.  Laurie  had  a 
waked-up  look  as  he  rose  to  give  her  his  seat ;  and 
when  he  hurried  away  to  bring  her  some  supper,  she 
said  to  herself,  with  a  satisfied  smile, — 

“  Ah,  I  thought  that  would  do  him  good  !  ” 

“You  look  like  Balzac’s  ‘Femme  peinte  par  elle- 
m£me,’  ”  he  said,  as  he  fanned  her  with  one  hand,  and 
held  her  coffee-cup  in  the  other. 

“  My  rouge  won’t  come  off ;  ”  and  Amy  rubbed  her 
brilliant  cheek,  and  showed  him  her  white  glove  with  q 
sober  simplicity  that  made  him  laugh  outright. 


Little  Women 


486 

“  What  do  you  call  this  stuff?  ”  he  asked,  touching  a 
fold  of  her  dress  that  had  blown  over  his  knee. 

“  Illusion.” 

“Good  name  for  it;  it’s  very  pretty  —  new  thing, 
is  n  t  it? 

“  It ’s  as  old  as  the  hills ;  you  have  seen  it  on  dozens 
of  girls,  and  you  never  found  out  that  it  was  pretty  till 
now  —  stupide  !  ” 

“  I  never  saw  it  on  you  before,  which  accounts  for  the 
mistake,  you  see.” 

“  None  of  that,  it  is  forbidden ;  I  ’d  rather  take  coffee 
than  compliments  just  now.  No,  don’t  lounge,  it  makes 
me  nervous.” 

Laurie  sat  bolt  upright,  and  meekly  took  her  empty 
plate,  feeling  an  odd  sort  of  pleasure  in  having  “  little 
Amy”  order  him  about;  for  she  had  lost  her  shynes* 
now,  and  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  trample  on  him,  a', 
girls  have  a  delightful  way  of  doing  when  lords  of  crea¬ 
tion  show  any  signs  of  subjection. 

“Where  did  you  learn  all  this  sort  of  thing?”  he 
asked,  with  a  quizzical  look. 

“  As  ‘  this  sort  of  thing  ’  is  rather  a  vague  expression, 
would  you  kindly  explain?”  returned  Amy,  knowing 
perfectly  well  what  he  meant,  but  wickedly  leaving  him 
to  describe  what  is  indescribable. 

“  Well  —  the  general  air,  the  style,  the  self-possession, 
the  —  the  —  illusion  — you  know,”  laughed  Laurie,  break¬ 
ing  down,  and  helping  himself  out  of  his  quandary  with 
the  new  word. 

Amy  was  gratified,  but,  of  course,  did  n’t  show  it, 
and  demurely  answered,  “  Foreign  life  polishes  one 
in  spite  of  one’s  self;  I  study  as  well  as  play;  and  as 
for  this” — with  a  little  gesture  toward  her  dress  — 
“why,  tulle  is  cheap,  posies  to  be  had  for  nothing, 


On  the  Shelf 


487 

and  T  am  used  to  making  th£  most  of  my  poor  little 
things.” 

Amy  rather  regretted  that  last  sentence,  fearing  it 
wasn’t  in  good  taste;  but  Laurie  liked  her  the  better 
for  it,  and  found  himself  both  admiring  and  respecting 
the  brave  patience  that  made  the  most  of  opportunity, 
and  the  cheerful  spirit  that  covered  poverty  with  flowers. 
Amy  did  not  know  why  he  looked  at  her  so  kindly,  nor 
why  he  filled  up  her  book  with  his  own  name,  and  de¬ 
voted  himself  to  her  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  in  the 
most  delightful  manner;  but  the  impulse  that  wrought 
this  agreeable  change  was  the  result  of  one  of  the  new 
impressions  which  both  of  them  were  unconsciously 
giving  and  receiving. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

ON  THE  SHELF 

IN  France  the  young  girls  have  a  dull  time  of  it  till 
they  are  married,  when  “  Vive  la  liberte  ”  becomes 
their  motto.  In  America,  as  every  one  knows, 
girls  early  sign  the  declaration  of  independence,  and  en¬ 
joy  their  freedom  with  republican  zest;  but  the  young 
matrons  usually  abdicate  with  the  first  heir  to  the  throne, 
and  go  into  a  seclusion  almost  as  close  as  a  French  nun¬ 
nery,  though  by  no  means  as  quiet.  Whether  they  like 
it  or  not,  they  are  virtually  put  upon  the  shelf  as  soon 
as  the  wedding  excitement  is  over,  and  most  of  them 
might  exclaim,  as  did  a  very  pretty  woman  the  other 
day,  “  I ’m  as  handsome  as  ever,  but  no  one  takes  any 
notice  of  me  because  I  ’m  married.” 

Not  being  a  belie  or  even  a  fashionable  lady,  Meg  did 


Little  Women 


488 

not  experience  this  affliction  till  her  babies  were  a  yeat 
old,  for  in  her  little  world  primitive  customs  prevailed, 
and  she  found  herself  more  admired  and  beloved  than 
ever. 

As  she  was  a  womanly  little  woman,  the  maternal  in¬ 
stinct  was  very  strong,  and  she  was  entirely  absorbed  in 
her  children,  to  the  utter  exclusion  of  everything  and 
everybody  else.  Day  and  night  she  brooded  over  them 
with  tireless  devotion  and  anxiety,  leaving  John  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  help,  for  an  Irish  lady  now  presided 
over  the  kitchen  department.  Being  a  domestic  man, 
John  decidedly  missed  the  wifely  attentions  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  receive ;  but,  as  he  adored  his  babies,  he 
cheerfully  relinquished  his  comfort  for  a  time,  supposing, 
with  masculine  ignorance,  that  peace  would  soon  be  re¬ 
stored.  But  three  months  passed,  and  there  was  no  return 
of  repose  ;  Meg  looked  worn  and  nervous,  the  babies  ab¬ 
sorbed  every  minute  of  her  time,  the  house  was  neglected, 
and  Kitty,  the  cook,  who  took  life  “  aisy,”  kept  him  on 
short  commons.  When  he  went  out  in  the  morning  he 
was  bewildered  by  small  commissions  for  the  captive 
mamma;  if  he  came  gayly  in  at  night,  eager  to  embrace 
his  family,  he  was  quenched  by  a  “  Hush  !  they  are  just 
asleep  after  worrying  all  day.”  If  he  proposed  a  little 
amusement  at  home,  “  No,  it  would  disturb  the  babies.  ” 
If  he  hinted  at  a  lecture  or  concert,  he  was  answered 
with  a  reproachful  look,  and  a  decided  “  Leave  my 
children  for  pleasure,  never  !  ”  His  sleep  was  broken  by 
infant  wails  and  visions  of  a  phantom  figure  pacing  noise¬ 
lessly  to  and  fro  in  the  watches  of  the  night;  his  meals 
were  interrupted  by  the  frequent  flight  of  the  presiding 
genius,  who  deserted  him,  half-helped,  if  a  muffled  chirp 
sounded  from  the  nest  above  ;  and  when  he  read  his  paper 
of  an  evening,  Demi’s  colic  got  into  the  shipping-list,  and 


On  the  Shelf  4.89 

Daisy’s  fall  affected  the  price  of  stocks,  for  Mrs.  Brooke 
was  only  interested  in  domestic  news. 

The  poor  man  was  very  uncomfortable,  for  the  children 
had  bereft  him  of  his  wife ;  home  was  merely  a  nursery, 
and  the  perpetual  “  hushing  ”  made  him  feel  like  a  brutal 
intruder  whenever  he  entered  the  sacred  precincts  of 
Babyland.  He  bore  it  very  patiently  for  six  months,  and, 
when  no  signs  of  amendment  appeared,  he  did  what  other 
paternal  exiles  do,  —  tried  to  get  a  little  comfort  elsewhere. 
Scott  had  married  and  gone  to  housekeeping  not  far  off, 
and  John  fell  into  the  way  of  running  over  for  an  hour  or 
two  of  an  evening,  when  his  own  parlor  was  empty,  and 
his  own  wife  singing  lullabies  that  seemed  to  have  no  end. 
Mrs.  Scott  was  a  lively,  pretty  girl,  with  nothing  to  do  but 
be  agreeable,  and  she  performed  her  mission  most  success¬ 
fully.  The  parlor  was  always  bright  and  attractive,  the 
chess-board  ready,  the  piano  in  tune,  plenty  of  gay  gossip, 
and  a  nice  little  supper  set  forth  in  tempting  style. 

John  would  have  preferred  his  own  fireside  if  it  had  not 
been  so  lonely ;  but  as  it  was,  he  gratefully  took  the  next 
best  thing,  and  enjoyed  his  neighbor’s  society. 

Meg  rather  approved  of  the  new  arrangement  at  first, 
and  found  it  a  relief  to  know  that  John  was  having  a  good 
time  instead  of  dozing  in  the  parlor,  or  tramping  about 
the  house  and  waking  the  children.  But  by  and  by,  when 
the  teething  worry  was  over,  and  the  idols  went  to  sleep  at 
proper  hours,  leaving  mamma  time  to  rest,  she  began  to 
miss  John,  and  find  her  work  basket  dull  company,  when 
he  was  not  sitting  opposite  in  his  old  dressing  gown,  com¬ 
fortably  scorching  his  slippers  on  the  fender.  She  would 
not  ask  him  to  stay  at  home,  but  felt  injured  because  he 
did  not  know  that  she  wanted  him  without  being  told, 
entirely  forgetting  the  many  evenings  he  had  waited  for 
her  in  vain.  She  was  nervous  and  worn  out  with  watch- 


Little  Women 


49° 

;ng  and  worry,  and  in  that  unreasonable  frame  of  mind 
which  the  best  of  mothers  occasionally  experience  when 
domestic  cares  oppress  them.  Want  of  exercise  robs 
them  of  cheerfulness,  and  too  much  devotion  to  that  idol 
of  American  women,  the  teapot,  makes  them  feel  as  if 
they  were  all  nerve  and  no  muscle. 

“  Yes,”  she  would  say,  looking  in  the  glass,  “  I  ’m  get¬ 
ting  old  and  ugly;  John  does  n’t  find  me  interesting  any 
longer,  so  he  leaves  his  faded  wife  and  goes  to  see  his 
pretty  neighbor,  who  has  no  incumbrances.  Well,  the 
babies  love  me ;  they  don’t  care  if  I  am  thin  and  pale, 
and  haven’t  time  to  crimp  my  hair;  they  are  my  com¬ 
fort,  and  some  day  John  will  see  what  I ’ve  gladly  sacri¬ 
ficed  for  them,  won’t  he,  my  precious?” 

To  which  pathetic  appeal  Daisy  would  answer  with  a 
coo,  or  Demi  with  a  crow,  and  Meg  would  put  by  her 
lamentations  for  a  maternal  revel,  which  soothed  her 
solitude  for  the  time  being.  But  the  pain  increased  as 
politics  absorbed  John,  who  was  always  running  over  to 
discuss  interesting  points  with  Scott,  quite  unconscious 
that  Meg  missed  him.  Not  a  word  did  she  say,  however, 
till  her  mother  found  her  in  tears  one  day,  and  insisted 
on  knowing  what  the  matter  was,  for  Meg’s  drooping 
spirits  had  not  escaped  her  observation. 

“I  wouldn’t  tell  any  one  except  you,  mother;  but  I 
really  do  need  advice,  for,  if  John  goes  on  so  much  longer 
I  might  as  well  be  widowed,”  replied  Mrs.  Brooke,  drying 
her  tears  on  Daisy’s  bib,  with  an  injured  air. 

“  Goes  on  how,  my  dear?  ”  asked  her  mother  anxiously. 

“  He ’s  away  all  day,  and  at  night,  when  I  want  to  see 
him,  he  is  continually  going  over  to  the  Scotts’.  It  is  n’t 
fair  that  I  should  have  the  hardest  work,  and  never 
any  amusement.  Men  are  very  selfish,  even  the  best  of 
them.” 


On  the  Shelf 


49 1 

“  So  are  women ;  don’t  blame  John  till  you  see  where 
you  are  wrong  yourself.” 

“  But  it  can’t  be  right  for  him  to  neglect  me.” 

“  Don’t  you  neglect  him?” 

“  Why,  mother,  I  thought  you ’d  take  my  part !  ” 

“  So  I  do,  as  far  as  sympathizing  goes  ;  but  I  think  the 
fault  is  yours,  Meg.” 

“  I  don’t  see  how.” 

“Let  me  show  you.  Did  John  ever  neglect  you,  as 
you  call  it,  while  you  made  it  a  point  to  give  him  your 
society  of  an  evening,  his  only  leisure  time?” 

“No;  but  I  can’t  do  it  now,  with  two  babies  to 
tend.” 

“I  think  you  could,  dear ;  and  I  think  you  ought.  May 
I  speak  quite  freely,  and  will  you  remember  that  it ’s 
mother  who  blames  as  well  as  mother  who  sympathizes?  ” 

“  Indeed  I  will !  Speak  to  me  as  if  I  were  little  Meg 
again.  I  often  feel  as  if  I  needed  teaching  more  than 
ever  since  these  babies  look  to  me  for  everything.” 

Meg  drew  her  low  chair  beside  her  mother’s,  and,  with 
a  little  interruption  in  either  lap,  the  two  women  rocked 
and  talked  lovingly  together,  feeling  that  the  tie  of  mother¬ 
hood  made  them  more  one  than  ever. 

“You  have  only  made  the  mistake  that  most  young 
wives  make,  —  forgotten  your  duty  to  your  husband  in 
your  love  for  your  children.  A  very  natural  and  forgiv¬ 
able  mistake,  Meg,  but  one  that  had  better  be  remedied 
before  you  take  to  different  ways ;  for  children  should 
draw  you  nearer  than  ever,  not  separate  you,  as  if  they 
were  all  yours,  and  John  had  nothing  to  do  but  support 
them.  I ’ve  seen  it  for  some  weeks,  but  have  not  spoken, 
feeling  sure  it  would  come  right  in  time.” 

“  I ’m  afraid  it  won’t.  If  I  ask  him  to  stay,  he  ’ll  think 
I  ’m  jealous  ;  and  I  would  n’t  insult  him  by  such  an  idea. 


Little  Women 


492 

He  does  n’t  see  that  I  want  him,  and  I  don’t  know  how  te 
tell  him  without  words.” 

“  Make  it  so  pleasant  he  won’t  want  to  go  away.  My 
dear,  he ’s  longing  for  his  little  home ;  but  it  is  n’t  home 
without  you,  and  you  are  always  in  the  nursery.” 

“  Ought  n’t  I  to  be  there  ?  ” 

“Not  all  the  time;  too  much  confinement  makes  you 
nervous,  and  then  you  are  unfitted  for  everything.  Be¬ 
sides,  you  owe  something  to  John  as  well  as  to  the  babies  ; 
don’t  neglect  husband  for  children,  don’t  shut  him  out  of 
the  nursery,  but  teach  him  how  to  help  in  it.  His  place 
is  there  as  well  as  yours,  and  the  children  need  him;  let 
him  feel  that  he  has  his  part  to  do,  and  he  will  do  it 
gladly  and  faithfully,  and  it  will  be  better  for  you  all.” 

“You  really  think  so,  mother?” 

“  I  know  it,  Meg,  for  I ’ve  tried  it;  and  I  seldom  give 
advice  unless  I ’ve  proved  its  practicability.  When  you 
and  Jo  were  little,  I  went  on  just  as  you  are,  feeling  as  if 
I  did  n’t  do  my  duty  unless  I  devoted  myself  wholly  to 
you.  Poor  father  took  to  his  books,  after  I  had  refused 
all  offers  of  help,  and  left  me  to  try  my  experiment  alone. 
I  struggled  along  as  well  as  I  could,  but  Jo  was  too  much 
for  me.  I  nearly  spoilt  her  by  indulgence.  You  were 
poorly,  and  I  worried  about  you  till  I  fell  sick  myself. 
Then  father  came  to  the  rescue,  quietly  managed  every¬ 
thing,  and  made  himself  so  helpful  that  I  saw  my  mistake, 
and  never  have  been  able  to  get  on  without  him  since. 
That  is  the  secret  of  our  home  happiness :  he  does  not 
let  business  wean  him  from  the  little  cares  and  duties 
that  affect  us  all,  and  I  try  not  to  let  domestic  worries 
destroy  my  interest  in  his  pursuits.  Each  do  our  part 
alone  in  many  things,  but  at  home  we  work  together, 
always.” 

“  It  is  so,  mother ;  and  my  great  wish  is  to  be  to  my 


On  the  Shelf 


493 

husband  and  children  what  you  have  been  to  yours. 
Show  me  how;  I’ll  do  anything  you  say.” 

“You  always  were  my  docile  daughter.  Well,  dear, 
if  I  were  you,  I ’d  let  John  have  more  to  do  with  the 
management  of  Demi,  for  the  boy  needs  training,  and  it ’s 
none  too  soon  to  begin.  Then  I  ’d  do  what  I  have  often 
proposed,  let  Hannah  come  and  help  you ;  she  is  a  cap¬ 
ital  nurse,  and  you  may  trust  the  precious  babies  to  her 
while  you  do  more  housework.  You  need  the  exercise, 
Hannah  would  enjoy  the  rest,  and  John  would  find  his 
wife  again.  Go  out  more ;  keep  cheerful  as  well  as  busy, 
for  you  are  the  sunshine-maker  of  the  family,  and  if  you 
get  dismal  there  is  no  fair  weather.  Then  I  ’d  try  to 
take  an  interest  in  whatever  John  likes,  — talk  with  him, 
let  him  read  to  you,  exchange  ideas,  and  help  each 
other  in  that  way.  Don’t  shut  yourself  up  in  a  bandbox 
because  you  are  a  woman,  but  understand  what  is  going 
on,  and  educate  yourself  to  take  your  part  in  the  world’s 
work,  for  it  all  affects  you  and  yours.” 

“  John  is  so  sensible,  I ’m  afraid  he  will  think  I ’m 
stupid  if  I  ask  questions  about  politics  and  things.” 

“  I  don’t  believe  he  would ;  love  covers  a  multitude  of 
sins,  and  of  whom  could  you  ask  more  freely  than  of  him  ? 
Try  it,  and  see  if  he  does  n’t  find  your  society  far  more 
agreeable  than  Mrs.  Scott’s  suppers.” 

“  I  will.  Poor  John,  I ’m  afraid  I  have  neglected  him 
sadly,  but  I  thought  I  was  right,  and  he  never  said  any¬ 
thing.” 

“  He  tried  not  to  be  selfish,  but  he  has  felt  rather  for¬ 
lorn,  I  fancy.  This  is  just  the  time,  Meg,  when  young 
married  people  are  apt  to  grow  apart,  and  the  very  time 
when  they  ought  to  be  most  together ;  for  the  first  tender¬ 
ness  soon  wears  off,  unless  care  is  taken  to  preserve  it; 
and  no  time  is  so  beautiful  and  precious  to  parents  as  the 


Little  Women 


494 

first  years  of  the  little  lives  given  them  to  train.  Don’t 
let  John  be  a  stranger  to  the  babies,  for  they  will  do 
more  to  keep  him  safe  and  happy  in  this  world  of  trial 
and  temptation  than  anything  else,  and  through  them 
you  will  learn  to  know  and  love  one  another  as  you 
should.  Now,  dear,  good-by;  think  over  mother’s 
preachment,  act  upon  it  if  it  seems  good,  and  God  bless 
you  all !  ” 

Meg  did  think  it  over,  found  it  good,  and  acted  upon 
it,  though  the  first  attempt  was  not  made  exactly  as  she 
planned  to  have  it.  Of  course  the  children  tyrannized 
over  her,  and  ruled  the  house  as  soon  as  they  found  out 
that  kicking  and  squalling  brought  them  whatever  they 
wanted.  Mamma  was  an  abject  slave  to  their  caprices, 
but  papa  was  not  so  easily  subjugated,  and  occasionally 
afflicted  his  tender  spouse  by  an  attempt  at  paternal  dis¬ 
cipline  with  his  obstreperous  son.  For  Demi  inherited  a 
trifle  of  his  sire’s  firmness  of  character,  —  we  won’t  call  it 
obstinacy,  —  and  when  he  made  up  his  little  mind  to  have 
or  to  do  anything,  all  the  king’s  horses  and  all  the  king’s 
men  could  not  change  that  pertinacious  little  mind. 
Mamma  thought  the  dear  too  young  to  be  taught  to 
conquer  his  prejudices,  but  papa  believed  that  it  never 
was  too  soon  to  learn  obedience ;  so  Master  Demi  early 
discovered  that  when  he  undertook  to  “  wrastle  ”  with 
“  parpar,”  he  always  got  the  worst  of  it ;  yet,  like  the 
Englishman,  Baby  respected  the  man  who  conquered 
him,  and  loved  the  father  whose  grave  “  No,  no,”  was 
more  impressive  than  all  mamma’s  love-pats. 

A  few  days  after  the  talk  with  her  mother,  Meg  resolved 
to  try  a  social  evening  with  John ;  so  she  ordered  a  nice 
supper,  set  the  parlor  in  order,  dressed  herself  prettily, 
and  put  the  children  to  bed  early,  that  nothing  should 
interfere  with  her  experiment.  But,  unfortunately, 


On  the  Shelf 


495 

Demi’s  most  unconquerable  prejudice  was  against  going 
to  bed,  and  that  night  he  decided  to  go  on  a  rampage ; 
so  poor  Meg  sung  and  rocked,  told  stories  and  tried 
every  sleep-provoking  wile  she  could  devise,  but  all  in 
vain,  the  big  eyes  would  n’t  shut;  and  long  after  Daisy 
had  gone  to  byelow,  like  the  chubby  little  bunch  of  good¬ 
nature  she  was,  naughty  Demi  lay  staring  at  the  light, 
with  the  most  discouragingly  wide-awake  expression  of 
countenance. 

“  Will  Demi  lie  still  like  a  good  boy,  while  mamma 
runs  down  and  gives  poor  papa  his  tea?  ”  asked  Meg,  as 
the  hall-door  softly  closed,  and  the  well-known  step  went 
tiptoeing  into  the  dining-room. 

“  Me  has  tea  !  ”  said  Demi,  preparing  to  join  in  the 
revel. 

“  No  ;  but  I  ’ll  save  you  some  little  cakies  for  breakfast, 
if  you  ’ll  go  bye-by  like  Daisy.  Will  you,  lovey  ?  ” 

“  Iss  !  ”  and  Demi  shut  his  eyes  tight,  as  if  to  catch 
sleep  and  hurry  the  desired  day. 

Taking  advantage  of  the  propitious  moment,  Meg 
slipped  away,  and  ran  down  to  greet  her  husband  with  a 
smiling  face,  and  the  little  blue  bow  in  her  hair  which 
was  his  especial  admiration.  He  saw  it  at  once,  and 
said,  with  pleased  surprise,  — 

“  Why  little  mother,  how  gay  we  are  to-night.  Do 
you  expect  company?” 

“  Only  you,  dear.” 

“  Is  it  a  birthday,  anniversary,  or  anything?” 

“  No ;  I  ’m  tired  of  being  a  dowdy,  so  I  dressed  up  as 
a  change.  You  always  make  yourself  nice  for  table,  no 
matter  how  tired  you  are;  so  why  shouldn’t  I  when  I 
have  the  time?” 

“  I  do  it  out  of  respect  to  you,  my  dear,”  said  old-fash¬ 
ioned  John. 


Little  Women 


496 

“  Ditto,  ditto,  Mr.  Brooke,”  laughed  Meg,  looking 
young  and  pretty  again,  as  she  nodded  to  him  over  the 
teapot. 

“Well,  it’s  altogether  delightful,  and  like  old  times. 
This  tastes  right.  I  drink  your  health,  dear.”  And  John 
sipped  his  tea  with  an  air  of  reposeful  rapture,  which  was 
of  very  short  duration,  however;  for,  as  he  put  down  his 
cup,  the  door-handle  rattled  mysteriously,  and  a  little 
voice  was  heard,  saying  impatiently, — 

“  Opy  doy  ;  me ’s  tummin  !  ” 

“It’s, that  naughty  boy.  I  told  him  to  go  to  sleep 
alone,  and  here  he  is,  downstairs,  gettinghis  death  a-cold 
pattering  over  that  canvas,”  said  Meg,  answering  the 
call. 

“  Mornin’  now,”  announced  Demi,  in  a  joyful  tone, 
as  he  entered,  with  his  long  night-gown  gracefully  fes¬ 
tooned  over  his  arm,  and  every  curl  bobbing  gayly  as 
he  pranced  about  the  table,  eying  the  “  cakies  ”  with 
loving  glances. 

“  No,  it  is  n’t  morning  yet.  You  must  go  to  bed,  and 
not  trouble  poor  mamma;  then  you  can  have  the  little 
cake  with  sugar  on  it.” 

“  Me  loves  parpar,”  said  the  artful  one,  preparing  to 
climb  the  paternal  knee,  and  revel  in  forbidden  joys. 
But  John  shook  his  head,  and  said  to  Meg, — 

“  If  you  told  him  to  stay  .up  there,  and  go  to  sleep 
alone,  make  him  do  it,  or  he  will  never  learn  to  mind 
you.” 

“  Yes,  of  course.  Come,  Demi ;  ”  and  Meg  led  her  son 
away,  feeling  a  strong  desire  to  spank  the  little  marplot 
who  hopped  beside  her,  laboring  under  the  delusion  that 
the  bribe  was  to  be  administered  as  soon  as  they  reached 
the  nursery. 

Nor  was  he  disappointed  ;  for  that  short-sighted  woman 


On  the  Shelf 


497 

actually  gave  him  a  lump  of  sugar,  tucked  him  into  his 
bed,  and  forbade  any  more  promenades  till  morning. 

“  Iss  !  ”  said  Demi  the  perjured,  blissfully  sucking  his 
sugar,  and  regarding  his  first  attempt  as  eminently  suc¬ 
cessful. 

Meg  returned  to  her  place,  and  supper  was  progressing 
pleasantly,  when  the  little  ghost  walked  again,  and  ex¬ 
posed  the  maternal  delinquencies  by  boldly  demand¬ 
ing,— 

“  More  sudar,  marmar.” 

“  Now  this  won’t  do,”  said  John,  hardening  his  heart 
against  the  engaging  little  sinner.  “  We  shall  never  know 
any  peace  till  that  child  learns  to  go  to  bed  properly. 
You  have  made  a  slave  of  yourself  long  enough;  give 
him  one  lesson,  and  then  there  will  be  an  end  of  it.  Put 
him  in  his  bed  and  leave  him,  Meg.” 

“  He  won’t  stay  there;  he  never  does,  unless  I  sit 
by  him.” 

“  I  ’ll  manage  him.  Demi,  go  upstairs,  and  get  into 
your  bed,  as  mamma  bids  you.” 

“  S’ant!  ”  replied  the  young  rebel,  helping  himself  to 
the  coveted  “  cakie,”  and  beginning  to  eat  the  same 
with  calm  audacity. 

“You  must  never  say  that  to  papa;  I  shall  carry  you 
if  you  don’t  go  yourself.” 

“  Go  ’way;  me  don’t  love  parpar;  ”  and  Demi  retired 
to  his  mother’s  skirts  for  protection. 

But  even  that  refuge  proved  unavailing,  for  he  was 
delivered  over  to  the  enemy,  with  a  “  Be  gentle  with 
him,  John,”  which  struck  the  culprit  with  dismay;  for 
when  mamma  deserted  him,  then  the  judgment-day  was 
at  hand.  Bereft  of  his  cake,  defrauded  of  his  frolic, 
and  borne  away  by  a  strong  hand  to  that  detested  bed, 
poor  Demi  could  not  restrain  his  wrath,  but  openly  de- 

32 


Little  Women 


498 

fied  papa,  and  kicked  and  screamed  lustily  all  the  way 
upstairs.  The  minute  he  was  put  into  bed  on  one  side, 
he  rolled  out  on  the  other,  and  made  for  the  door,  only 
to  be  ignominiously  caught  up  by  the  tail  of  his  little 
toga,  and  put  back  again,  which  lively  performance  was 
kept  up  till  the  young  man’s  strength  gave  out,  when 
he  devoted  himself  to  roaring  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
This  vocal  exercise  usually  conquered  Meg;  but  John 
sat  as  unmoved  as  the  post  which  is  popularly  believed 
to  be  deaf.  No  coaxing,  no  sugar,  no  lullaby,  no  story; 
even  the  light  was  put  out,  and  only  the  red  glow  of  the 
fire  enlivened  the  “  big  dark  ”  which  Demi  regarded 
with  curiosity  rather  than  fear.  This  new  order  of 
things  disgusted  him,  and  he  howled  dismally  for 
“  marmar,”  as  his  angry  passions  subsided,  and  recol¬ 
lections  of  his  tender  bondwoman  returned  to  the  cap¬ 
tive  autocrat.  The  plaintive  wail  which  succeeded  the 
passionate  roar  went  to  Meg’s  heart,  and  she  ran  up  to 
say  beseechingly,  — 

“  Let  me  stay  with  him  ;  he  ’ll  be  good,  now,  John.” 

“  No,  my  dear,  I ’ve  told  him  he  must  go  to  sleep, 
as  you  bid  him ;  and  he  must,  if  I  stay  here  all 
night.” 

“  But  he  ’ll  cry  himself  sick,”  pleaded  Meg,  reproach¬ 
ing  herself  for  deserting  her  boy. 

“  No,  he  won’t,  he ’s  so  tired  he  will  soon  drop  off, 
and  then  the  matter  is  settled  ;  for  he  will  understand 
that  he  has  got  to  mind.  Don’t  interfere;  I’ll  manage 
him.” 

“  He ’s  my  child,  and  I  can’t  have  his  spirit  broken 
by  harshness.” 

“  He ’s  my  child,  and  I  won’t  have  his  temper  spoilt 
by  indulgence.  Go  down,  my  dear,  and  leave  the  boy 
to  me.” 


On  the  Shelf 


499 

When  John  spoke  in  that  masterful  tone,  Meg  always 
obeyed,  and  never  regretted  her  docility. 

“  Please  let  me  kiss  him  once,  John?  ” 

“  Certainly.  Demi,  say  ‘  good-night’  to  mamma,  and 
let  her  go  and  rest,  for  she  is  very  tired  with  taking  care 
of  you  all  day.” 

Meg  always  insisted  upon  it  that  the  kiss  won  the 
victory;  for  after  it  was  given,  Demi  sobbed  more 
quietly,  and  lay  quite  still  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed, 
whither  he  had  wiggled  in  his  anguish  of  mind. 

“  Poor  little  man,  he ’s  worn  out  with  sleep  and  cry¬ 
ing.  I  ’ll  cover  him  up,  and  then  go  and  set  Meg’s 
heart  at  rest,”  thought  John,  creeping  to  the  bedside, 
hoping  to  find  his  rebellious  heir  asleep. 

But  he  was  n’t ;  for  the  moment  his  father  peeped  at 
him,  Demi’s  eyes  opened,  his  little  chin  began  to  quiver, 
and  he  put  up  his  arms,  saying,  with  a  penitent  hic¬ 
cough,  “  Me ’s  dood,  now.” 

Sitting  on  the  stairs,  outside,  Meg  wondered  at  the 
long  silence  which  followed  the  uproar;  and,  after  im¬ 
agining  all  sorts  of  impossible  accidents,  she  slipped 
into  the  room,  to  set  her  fears  at  rest.  Demi  lay  fast 
asleep  ;  not  in  his  usual  spread-eagle  attitude,  but  in  a 
subdued  bunch,  cuddled  close  in  the  circle  of  his  father’s 
arm  and  holding  his  father’s  finger,  as  if  he  felt  that 
justice  was  tempered  with  mercy,  and  had  gone  to  sleep 
a  sadder  and  a  wiser  baby.  So  held,  John  had  waited 
with  womanly  patience  till  the  little  hand  relaxed  its 
hold  ;  and,  while  waiting,  had  fallen  asleep,  more  tired  by 
that  tussle  with  his  son  than  with  his  whole  day’s  work. 

As  Meg  stood  watching  the  two  faces  on  the  pillow, 
she  smiled  to  herself,  and  then  slipped  away  again, 
saying,  in  a  satisfied  tone,  — 

“  I  never  need  fear  that  John  will  be  too  harsh  with 


Little  Women 


5°° 

my  babies :  he  does  know  how  to  manage  them,  and  will 
be  a  great  help,  for  Demi  is  getting  too  much  for  me.” 

When  John  came  down  at  last,  expecting  to  find  a 
pensive  or  reproachful  wife,  he  was  agreeably  surprised 
to  find  Meg  placidly  trimming  a  bonnet,  and  to  be 
greeted  with  the  request  to  read  something  about  the 
election,  if  he  was  not  too  tired.  John  saw  in  a  minute 
that  a  revolution  of  some  kind  was  going  on,  but  wisely 
asked  no  questions,  knowing  that  Meg  was  such  a  trans¬ 
parent  little  person,  she  could  n’t  keep  a  secret  to  save 
her  life,  and  therefore  the  clew  would  soon  appear.  He 
read  a  long  debate  with  the  most  amiable  readiness  and 
then  explained  it  in  his  most  lucid  manner,  while  Meg 
tried  to  look  deeply  interested,  to  ask  intelligent  ques¬ 
tions,  and  keep  her  thoughts  from  wandering  from  the 
state  of  the  nation  to  the  state  of  her  bonnet.  In  her 
secret  soul,  however,  she  decided  that  politics  were  as 
bad  as  mathematics,  and  that  the  mission  of  politicians 
seemed  to  be  calling  each  other  names;  but  she  kept 
these  feminine  ideas  to  herself,  and  when  John  paused, 
shook  her  head,  and  said  with  what  she  thought  diplo¬ 
matic  ambiguity, — 

“  Well,  I  really  don’t  see  what  we  are  coming  to.” 

John  laughed,  and  watched  her  for  a  minute,  as  she 
poised  a  pretty  little  preparation  of  lace  and  flowers  on 
her  hand,  and  regarded  it  with  the  genuine  interest 
which  his  harangue  had  failed  to  waken. 

“  She  is  trying  to  like  politics  for  my  sake,  so  I  ’ll  try 
and  like  millinery  for  hers,  that  ’  s  only  fair,”  thought 
John  the  Just,  adding  aloud, — 

“That ’s  very  pretty;  is  it  what  you  call  a  breakfast- 
cap?  ” 

“  My  dear  man,  it’s  a  bonnet !  My  very  best  go-to* 
concert-and-theatre  bonnet.” 


On  the  Shelf 


5OJ 

“  I  beg  your  pardon ;  it  was  so  small,  I  naturally  mis¬ 
took  it  for  one  of  the  fly-away  things  you  sometimes 
wear.  How  do  you  keep  it  on?  ” 

“  These  bits  of  lace  are  fastened  under  the  chin  with 
a  rosebud,  so;  ”  and  Meg  illustrated  by  putting  on  the 
bonnet,  and  regarding  him  with  an  air  of  calm  satisfac¬ 
tion  that  was  irresistible. 

“  It ’s  a  love  of  a  bonnet,  but  I  prefer  the  face  inside, 
for  it  looks  young  and  happy  again;  ”  and  John  kissed 
the  smiling  face,  to  the  great  detriment  of  the  rosebud 
under  the  chin. 

“  I  ’m  glad  you  like  it,  for  I  want  you  to  take  me  to 
one  of  the  new  concerts  some  night;  I  really  need 
some  music  to  put  me  in  tune.  Will  you,  please?” 

“  Of  course  I  will,  with  all  my  heart,  or  anywhere 
else  you  like.  You  have  been  shut  up  so  long,  it  will 
do  you  no  end  of  good,  and  I  shall  enjoy  it,  of  all 
things.  What  put  it  into  your  head,  little  mother?” 

“  Well,  I  had  a  talk  with  Marmee  the  other  day,  and 
told  her  how  nervous  and  cross  and  out  of  sorts  I  felt, 
and  she  said  I  needed  change  and  less  care ;  so  Hannah 
is  to  help  me  with  the  children,  and  I  ’m  to  see  to 
things  about  the  house  more,  and  now  and  then  have  a 
little  fun,  just  to  keep  me  from  getting  to  be  a  fidgety, 
broken-down  old  woman  before  my  time.  It ’s  only  an 
experiment,  John,  and  I  want  to  try  it  for  your  sake  as 
much  as  for  mine,  because  I  Ve  neglected  you  shamefully 
lately,  and  I ’m  going  to  make  home  what  it  used  to  be, 
if  I  can.  You  don’t  object,  I  hope?” 

Never  mind  what  John  said,  or  what  a  very  narrow 
escape  the  little  bonnet  had  from  utter  ruin  ;  all  that  we 
have  any  business  to  know  is  that  John  did  not  appear 
to  object,  judging  from  the  changes  which  gradually 
took  place  in  the  house  and  its  inmates.  It  was  not  all 


Little  Women 


5°2 

Paradise  by  any  means,  but  every  one  was  better  for  the 
division  of  labor  system  ;  the  children  throve  under  the 
paternal  rule,  for  accurate,  steadfast  John  brought  order 
and  obedience  into  Babydom,  while  Meg  recovered  her 
spirits  and  composed  her  nerves  by  plenty  of  wholesome 
exercise,  a  little  pleasure,  and  much  confidential  conver¬ 
sation  with  her  sensible  husband.  Home  grew  home¬ 
like  again,  and  John  had  no  wish  to  leave  it,  unless  he 
took  Meg  with  him.  The  Scotts  came  to  the  Brookes’ 
now,  and  every  one  found  the  little  house  a  cheerful 
place,  full  of  happiness,  content,  and  family  love.  Even 
gay  Sallie  Moffat  liked  to  go  there.  “  It  is  always  so 
quiet  and  pleasant  here ;  it  does  me  good,  Meg,”  she 
used  to  say,  looking  about  her  with  wistful  eyes,  as  if 
trying  to  discover  the  charm,  that  she  might  use  it  in 
her  great  house,  full  of  splendid  loneliness;  for  there 
were  no  riotous,  sunny-faced  babies  there,  and  Ned  lived 
in  a  world  of  his  own,  where  there  was  no  place  for  her. 

This  household  happiness  did  not  come  all  at  once, 
but  John  and  Meg  had  found  the  key  to  it,  and  each 
year  of  married  life  taught  them  how  to  use  it,  unlock¬ 
ing  the  treasuries  of  real  home-love  and  mutual  helpful¬ 
ness,  which  the  poorest  may  possess,  and  the  richest 
cannot  buy.  This  is  the  sort  of  shelf  on  which  young 
wives  and  mothers  may  consent  to  be  laid,  safe  from 
the  restless  fret  and  fever  of  the  world,  finding  loyal 
lovers  in  the  little  sons  and  daughters  who  cling  to 
them,  undaunted  by  sorrow7,  poverty,  or  age ;  walking 
side  by  side,  through  fair  and  stormy  weather,  with  a 
faithful  friend,  who  is,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  good  old 
Saxon  word,  the  “  house-band,”  and  learning,  as  Meg 
learned,  that  a  woman’s  happiest  kingdom  is  home,  her 
highest  honor  the  art  of  ruling  it,  not  as  a  queen,  but  a 
wise  wife  and  mother. 


Lazy  Laurence 


5°3 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

LAZY  LAURENCE 

LAURIE  went  to  Nice  intending  to  stay  a  week, 
and  remained  a  month.  He  was  tired  of  wan¬ 
dering  about  alone,  and  Amy’s  familiar  pres¬ 
ence  seemed  to  give  a  home-like  charm  to  the  foreign 
scenes  in  which  she  bore  a  part.  He  rather  missed  the 
“petting”  he  used  to  receive,  and  enjoyed  a  taste  of 
it  again ;  for  no  attentions,  however  flattering,  from 
strangers,  were  half  so  pleasant  as  the  sisterly  adora¬ 
tion  of  the  girls  at  home.  Amy  never  would  pet  him 
like  the  others,  but  she  was  very  glad  to  see  him  now, 
and  quite  clung  to  him,  feeling  that  he  was  the  repre¬ 
sentative  of  the  dear  family  for  whom  she  longed  more 
than  she  would  confess.  They  naturally  took  comfort 
in  each  other’s  society,  and  were  much  together,  riding, 
walking,  dancing,  or  dawdling,  for,  at  Nice,  no  one  can 
be  very  industrious  during  the  gay  season.  But,  while 
apparently  amusing  themselves  in  the  most  careless 
fashion,  they  were  half-consciously  making  discoveries 
and  forming  opinions  about  each  other.  Amy  rose 
daily  in  the  estimation  of  her  friend,  but  he  sunk  in 
hers,  and  each  felt  the  truth  before  a  word  was  spoken. 
Amy  tried  to  please,  and  succeeded,  for  she  was  grate¬ 
ful  for  the  many  pleasures  he  gave  her,  and  repaid  him 
with  the  little  services  to  which  womanly  women  know 
how  to  lend  an  indescribable  charm.  Laurie  made  no 
effort  of  any  kind,  but  just  let  himself  drift  along  as 
comfortably  as  possible,  trying  to  forget,  and  feeling 
that  all  women  owed  him  a  kind  word  because  one  had 
been  cold  to  him.  It  cost  him  no  effort  to  be  generous, 


Little  Women 


5°+ 

and  he  would  have  given  Amy  all  the  trinkets  in  Nice 
if  she  would  have  taken  them;  but,  at  the  same  time, 
he  felt  that  he  could  not  change  the  opinion  she  was 
forming  of  him,  and  he  rather  dreaded  the  keen  blue 
eyes  that  seemed  to  watch  him  with  such  half-sorrowful, 
half-scornful  surprise. 

“All  the  rest  have  gone  to  Monaco  for  the  day;  I 
preferred  to  stay  at  home  and  write  letters.  They  are 
done  now,  and  I  am  going  to  Valrosa  to  sketch ;  will 
you  come  ?  ”  said  Amy,  as  she  joined  Laurie  one  lovely 
day  when  he  lounged  in  as  usual,  about  noon. 

“Well,  yes;  but  isn’t  it  rather  warm  for  such  a  long 
walk  ?  ”  he  answered  slowly,  for  the  shaded  salon  looked 
inviting,  after  the  glare  without. 

“  I ’m  going  to  have  the  little  carriage,  and  Baptiste 
can  drive,  so  you  ’ll  have  nothing  to  do  but  hold  your 
umbrella  and  keep  your  gloves  nice,’’  returned  Amy, 
with  a  sarcastic  glance  at  the  immaculate  kids,  which 
were  a  weak  point  with  Laurie. 

“Then  I’ll  go  with  pleasure;  ’’  and  he  put  out  his 
hand  for  her  sketch-book.  But  she  tucked  it  under  her 
arm  with  a  sharp  — 

“Don’t  trouble  yourself;  it’s  no  exertion  to  me,  but 
you  don’t  look  equal  to  it.” 

Laurie  lifted  his  eyebrows,  and  followed  at  a  leisurely 
pace  as  she  ran  downstairs :  but  when  they  got  into  the 
carriage  he  took  the  reins  himself,  and  left  little  Bap¬ 
tiste  nothing  to  do  but  fold  his  arms  and  fall  asleep  on 
his  perch. 

The  two  never  quarrelled,  —  Amy  was  too  well-bred, 
and  just  now  Laurie  was  too  lazy;  so,  in  a  minute  he 
peeped  under  her  hat-brim  with  an  inquiring  air;  she 
answered  with  a  smile,  and  they  went  on  together  in  the 
most  amicable  manner. 


Lazy  Laurence  505 

It  was  a  lovely  drive,  along  winding  roads  rich  in 
the  picturesque  scenes  that  delight  beauty-loving  eyes. 
Here  an  ancient  monastery,  whence  the  solemn  chant¬ 
ing  of  the  monks  came  down  to  them.  There  a  bare¬ 
legged  shepherd,  in  wooden  shoes,  pointed  hat,  and 
rough  jacket  over  one  shoulder,  sat  piping  on  a  stone, 
while  his  goats  skipped  among  the  rocks  or  lay  at  his 
feet.  Meek,  mouse-colored  donkeys,  laden  with  pan¬ 
niers  of  freshly  cut  grass,  passed  by,  with  a  pretty  girl 
in  a  capaline  sitting  between  the  green  piles,  or  an  old 
woman  spinning  with  a  distaff  as  she  went.  Brown, 
soft-eyed  children  ran  out  from  the  quaint  stone  hovels 
to  offer  nosegays,  or  bunches  of  oranges  still  on  the 
bough.  Gnarled  olive-trees  covered  the  hills  with  their 
dusky  foliage,  fruit  hung  golden  in  the  orchard,  and 
great  scarlet  anemones  fringed  the  roadside;  while 
beyond  green  slopes  and  craggy  heights,  the  Maritime 
Alps  rose  sharp  and  white  against  the  blue  Italian  sky. 

Valrosa  well  deserved  its  name,  for,  in  that  climate  of 
perpetual  summer,  roses  blossomed  everywhere.  They 
overhung  the  archway,  thrust  themselves  between  the 
bars  of  the  great  gate  with  a  sweet  welcome  to  passers- 
by,  and  lined  the  avenue,  winding  through  lemon-trees 
and  feathery  palms  up  to  the  villa  on  the  hill.  Every 
shadowy  nook,  where  seats  invited  one  to  stop  and 
rest,  was  a  mass  of  bloom ;  every  cool  grotto  had  its 
marble  nymph  smiling  from  a  veil  of  flowers,  and  every 
fountain  reflected  crimson,  white,  or  pale  pink  roses, 
leaning  down  to  smile  at  their  own  beauty.  Roses 
covered  the  walls  of  the  house,  draped  the  cornices, 
climbed  the  pillars,  and  ran  riot  over  the  balustrade  of 
the  wide  terrace,  whence  one  looked  down  on  the 
sunny  Mediterranean,  and  the  white-walled  city  on 
its  shore. 


Little  Women 


5°  6 

“  This  is  a  regular  honeymoon  Paradise,  is  n’t  it  ? 
Did  you  ever  see  such  roses  ?  ”  asked  Amy,  pausing 
on  the  terrace  to  enjoy  the  view,  and  a  luxurious  whiff 
of  perfume  that  came  wandering  by. 

“No,  nor  felt  such  thorns,”  returned  Laurie,  with  his 
thumb  in  his  mouth,  after  a  vain  attempt  to  capture  a 
solitary  scarlet  flower  that  grew  just  beyond  his  reach. 

“Try  lower  down,  and  pick  those  that  have  no 
thorns,”  said  Amy,  gathering  three  of  the  tiny  cream- 
colored  ones  that  starred  the  wall  behind  her.  She  put 
them  in  his  button-hole,  as  a  peace-offering,  and  he 
stood  a  minute  looking  down  at  them  with  a  curious 
expression,  for  in  the  Italian  part  of  his  nature  there 
was  a  touch  of  superstition,  and  he  was  just  then  in 
that  state  of  half-sweet,  half-bitter  melancholy,  when 
imaginative  young  men  find  significance  in  trifles,  and 
food  for  romance  everywhere.  He  had  thought  of  Jo 
in  reaching  after  the  thorny  red  rose,  for  vivid  flowers 
became  her,  and  she  had  often  worn  ones  like  that  from 
the  greenhouse  at  home.  The  pale  roses  Amy  gave 
him  were  the  sort  that  the  Italians  lay  in  dead  hands, 
never  in  bridal  wreaths,  and,  for  a  moment,  he  wondered 
if  the  omen  was  for  Jo  or  for  himself;  but  the  next 
instant  his  American  common-sense  got  the  better  of 
sentimentality,  and  he  laughed  a  heartier  laugh  than 
Amy  had  heard  since  he  came. 

“  It  ’s  good  advice ;  you ’d  better  take  it  and  save 
your  fingers,”  she  said,  thinking  her  speech  amused 
him. 

“  Thank  you,  I  will,”  he  answered  in  jest,  and  a  few 
months  later  he  did  it  in  earnest. 

“Laurie,  when  are  you  going  to  your  grandfather?” 
she  asked  presently,  as  she  settled  herself  on  a  rustic 
seat. 


Lazy  Laurence  507 

“  Very  soon.” 

“You  have  said  that  a  dozen  times  within  the  last 
three  weeks.” 

“  I  dare  say;  short  answers  save  trouble.” 

“  He  expects  you,  and  you  really  ought  to  go.” 

“  Hospitable  creature  !  I  know  it.” 

“Then  why  don’t  you  do  it?” 

“  Natural  depravity,  I  suppose.” 

“  Natural  indolence,  you  mean.  It ’s  really  dread¬ 
ful  !  ”  and  Amy  looked  severe. 

“  Not  so  bad  as  it  seems,  for  I  should  only  plague 
him  if  I  went,  so  I  might  as  well  stay,  and  plague  you 
a  little  longer,  you  can  bear  it  better ;  in  fact,  I  think  it 
agrees  with  you  excellently;  ”  and  Laurie  composed  him¬ 
self  for  a  lounge  on  the  broad  ledge  of  the  balustrade. 

Amy  shook  her  head,  and  opened  her  sketch-book 
with  an  air  of  resignation ;  but  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  lecture  “  that  boy,”  and  in  a  minute  she  began 
again. 

“  What  are  you  doing  just  now?  ” 

“  Watching  lizards.” 

“  No,  no  ;  I  mean  what  do  you  intend  and  wish  to  do  ?  ” 

“  Smoke  a  cigarette,  if  you  ’ll  allow  me.” 

“  How  provoking  you  are  !  I  don’t  approve  of  cigars, 
and  I  will  only  allow  it  on  condition  that  you  let  me  put 
you  into  my  sketch ;  I  need  a  figure.” 

“  With  all  the  pleasure  in  life.  How  will  you  have 
me,  —  full-length  or  three-quarters,  on  my  head  or  my 
heels?  I  should  respectfully  suggest  a  recumbent  pos¬ 
ture,  then  put  yourself  in  also,  and  call  it  ‘  Dolce  fa? 
?iiente .’  ” 

“  Stay  as  you  are,  and  go  to  sleep  if  you  like.  I 
intend  to  work  hard,”  said  Amy,  in  her  most  energetic 
tone. 


Little  Women 


5°8 

“  What  delightful  enthusiasm  !  ”  and  he  leaned  against 
a  tall  urn  with  an  air  of  entire  satisfaction. 

“What  would  Jo  say  if  she  saw  you  now?”  asked 
Amy  impatiently,  hoping  to  stir  him  up  by  the  mention 
of  her  still  more  energetic  sister’s  name. 

“  As  usual,  ‘  Go  away,  Teddy,  I ’m  busy  !  ’  ”  He 
laughed  as  he  spoke,  but  the  laugh  was  not  natural,  and 
a  shade  passed  over  his  face,  for  the  utterance  of  the 
familiar  name  touched  the  wound  that  was  not  healed 
yet.  Both  tone  and  shadow  struck  Amy,  for  she  had 
seen  and  heard  them  before,  and  now  she  looked  up  in 
time  to  catch  a  new  expression  on  Laurie’s  face,  — 
a  hard,  bitter  look,  full  of  pain,  dissatisfaction,  and 
regret.  It  was  gone  before  she  could  study  it,  and  the 
listless  expression  back  again.  She  watched  him  for  a 
moment  with  artistic  pleasure,  thinking  how  like  an 
Italian  he  looked,  as  he  lay  basking  in  the  sun  with 
uncovered  head,  and  eyes  full  of  southern  dreaminess ; 
for  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her,  and  fallen  into 
a  reverie. 

“  You  look  like  the  effigy  of  a  young  knight  asleep  on 
his  tomb,”  she  said,  carefully  tracing  the  well-cut  profile 
defined  against  the  dark  stone. 

“  Wish  I  was  !  ” 

“  That ’s  a  foolish  wish,  unless  you  have  spoilt  your 
life.  You  are  so  changed,  I  sometimes  think  —  ”  there 
Amy  stopped,  with  a  half-timid,  half-wistful  look,  more 
significant  than  her  unfinished  speech. 

Laurie  saw  and  understood  the  affectionate  anxiety 
which  she  hesitated  to  express,  and  looking  straight  into 
her  eyes,  said,  just  as  he  used  to  say  it  to  her  mother,  — 

“  It ’s  all  right,  ma’am.” 

That  satisfied  her  and  set  at  rest  the  doubts  that  had 
begun  to  worry  her  lately.  It  also  touched  her,  and  she 


Lazy  Laurence  509 

showed  that  it  did,  by  the  cordial  tone  in  which  she 
said,  — 

“  I  ’m  glad  of  that !  I  did  n’t  think  you ’d  been  a  very 
bad  boy,  but  I  fancied  you  might  have  wasted  money  at 
that  wicked  Baden-Baden,  lost  your  heart  to  some  charm¬ 
ing  Frenchwoman  with  a  husband,  or  got  into  some  of 
the  scrapes  that  young  men  seem  to  consider  a  necessary 
part  of  a  foreign  tour.  Don’t  stay  out  there  in  the  sun  ; 
come  and  lie  on  the  grass  here,  and  ‘  let  us  be  friendly,’ 
as  Jo  used  to  say  when  we  got  in  the  sofa-corner  and 
told  secrets.” 

Laurie  obediently  threw  himself  down  on  the  turf, 
and  began  to  amuse  himself  by  sticking  daisies  into  the 
ribbons  of  Amy’s  hat,  that  lay  there. 

“I’m  all  ready  for  the  secrets;  ”  and  he  glanced  up 
with  a  decided  expression  of  interest  in  his  eyes. 

“  I ’ve  none  to  tell ;  you  may  begin.” 

“  Have  n’t  one  to  bless  myself  with.  I  thought  per¬ 
haps  you ’d  had  some  news  from  home.” 

“  You  have  heard  all  that  has  come  lately.  Don’t 
you  hear  often?  I  fancied  Jo  would  send  you  volumes.” 

“  She’s  very  busy;  I’m  roving  about  so,  it’s  impos¬ 
sible  to  be  regular,  you  know.  When  do  you  begin 
your  great  work  of  art,  Raphaella?”  he  asked,  changing 
the  subject  abruptly  after  another  pause,  in  which  he 
had  been  wondering  if  Amy  knew  his  secret,  and  wanted 
to  talk  about  it. 

“  Never,”  she  answered,  with  a  despondent  but  de¬ 
cided  air.  “  Rome  took  all  the  vanity  out  of  me ; 
for  after  seeing  the  wonders  there,  I  felt  too  insig¬ 
nificant  to  live,  and  gave  up  all  my  foolish  hopes  in 
despair.” 

“  Why  should  you,  with  so  much  energy  and  talent?  M 

“  That ’s  just  why,  —  because  talent  is  n’t  genius,  and 


Little  Women 


5  10 

no  amount  of  energy  can  make  it  so.  I  want  to  be 
great,  or  nothing.  I  won’t  be  a  common-place  dauber, 
so  I  don’t  intend  to  try  any  more.” 

“And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself  now,  if 
I  may  ask?  ” 

“  Polish  up  my  other  talents,  and  be  an  ornament  to 
society,  if  I  get  the  chance.” 

It  was  a  characteristic  speech,  and  sounded  daring; 
but  audacity  becomes  young  people,  and  Amy’s  ambi¬ 
tion  had  a  good  foundation.  Laurie  smiled,  but  he 
liked  the  spirit  with  which  she  took  up  a  new  purpose 
when  a  long-cherished  one  died,  and  spent  no  time 
lamenting. 

“  Good  !  and  here  is  where  Fred  Vaughn  comes  in,  I 
fancy.” 

Amy  preserved  a  discreet  silence,  but  there  was  a 
conscious  look  in  her  downcast  face,  that  made  Laurie 
sit  up  and  say  gravely,  — 

“  Now  I ’m  going  to  play  brother,  and  ask  questions. 
May  I?” 

“  I  don’t  promise  to  answer.” 

“Your  face  will,  if  your  tongue  won’t.  You  aren’t 
woman  of  the  world  enough  yet  to  hide  your  feelings, 
my  dear.  I  heard  rumors  about  Fred  and  you  last 
year,  and  it’s  my  private  opinion  that,  if  he  had  not 
.been  called  home  so  suddenly  and  detained  so  long, 
something  would  have  come  of  it  —  hey?” 

“  That ’s  not  for  me  to  say,”  was  Amy’s  prim  reply ; 
but  her  lips  would  smile,  and  there  was  a  traitorous 
sparkle  of  the  eye,  which  betrayed  that  she  knew  her 
power  and  enjoyed  the  knowledge. 

“  You  are  not  engaged,  I  hope?”  and  Laurie  looked 
very  elder-brotherly  and  grave  all  of  a  sudden. 

“  No.” 


Lazy  Laurence  5  1 1 

“  But  you  will  be,  if  he  comes  back  and  goes  properly 
down  upon  his  knees,  won’t  you?  ” 

“  Very  likely.” 

“  Then  you  are  fond  of  old  Fred?” 

“  I  could  be,  if  I  tried.” 

“  But  you  don’t  intend  to  try  till  the  proper  moment? 
Bless  my  soul,  what  unearthly  prudence  !  He ’s  a  good 
fellow,  Amy,  but  not  the  man  I  fancied  you ’d  like.” 

“  He  is  rich,  a  gentleman,  and  has  delightful  manners,” 
began  Amy,  trying  to  be  quite  cool  and  dignified,  but 
feeling  a  little  ashamed  of  herself,  in  spite  of  the  sincerity 
of  her  intentions. 

“  I  understand  ;  queens  of  society  can’t  get  on  without 
money,  so  you  mean  to  make  a  good  match,  and  start 
in  that  way?  Quite  right  and  proper,  as  the  world  goes, 
but  it  sounds  odd  from  the  lips  of  one  of  your  mother’s 
girls.” 

“True,  nevertheless.” 

A  short  speech,  but  the  quiet  decision  with  which  it 
was  uttered  contrasted  curiously  with  the  young  speaker. 
Laurie  felt  this  instinctively,  and  laid  himself  down  again, 
with  a  sense  of  disappointment  which  he  could  not  ex¬ 
plain.  His  look  and  silence,  as  well  as  a  certain  inward 
self-disapproval,  ruffled  Amy,  and  made  her  resolve  to 
deliver  her  lecture  without  delay. 

“  I  wish  you ’d  do  me  the  favor  to  rouse  yourself  a 
little,”  she  said  sharply. 

“  Do  it  for  me,  there’s  a  dear  girl.” 

“  I  could  if  I  tried ;  ”  and  she  looked  as  if  she  would 
like  doing  it  in  the  most  summary  style. 

“  Try,  then ;  I  give  you  leave,”  returned  Laurie,  who 
enjoyed  having  some  one  to  tease,  after  his  long  absti* 
nence  from  his  favorite  pastime. 

“You’d  be  angry  in  five  minutes.” 


Little  Women 


5 1 2 

“  I  ’m  never  angry  with  you.  It  takes  two  flints  to 
make  a  Are :  you  are  as  cool  and  soft  as  snow.” 

“  You  don’t  know  what  I  can  do;  snow  produces  a 
glow  and  a  tingle,  if  applied  rightly.  Your  indifference 
is  half  affectation,  and  a  good  stirring  up  would  prove 

*a 

it. 

“  Stir  away ;  it  won’t  hurt  me  and  it  may  amuse  you, 
as  the  big  man  said  when  his  little  wife  beat  him. 
Regard  me  in  the  light  of  a  husband  or  a  carpet,  and 
beat  till  you  are  tired,  if  that  sort  of  exercise  agrees  with 
you.” 

Being  decidedly  nettled  herself,  and  longing  to  see  him 
shake  off  the  apathy  that  so  altered  him,  Amy  sharpened 
both  tongue  and  pencil,  and  began :  — 

“  Flo  and  I  have  got  a  new  name  for  you ;  it ’s  ‘  Lazy 
Laurence.’  How  do  you  like  it?  ” 

She  thought  it  would  annoy  him ;  but  he  only  folded 
his  arms  under  his  head,  with  an  imperturbable  “  That ’s 
not  bad.  Thank  you,  ladies.’ 

“  Do  you  want  to  know  what  I  honestly  think  of  you  ?  ” 

“  Pining  to  be  told.” 

“Well,  I  despise  you.” 

If  she  had  even  said  “  I  hate  you,”  in  a  petulant  or 
coquettish  tone,  he  would  have  laughed,  and  rather  liked 
it;  but  the  grave,  almost  sad,  accent  of  her  voice  made 
him  open  his  eyes,  and  ask  quickly,  — 

“  Why,  if  you  please?  ” 

“  Because,  with  every  chance  for  being  good,  useful, 
and  happy,  you  are  faulty,  lazy,  and  miserable.” 

“  Strong  language,  mademoiselle.” 

“  If  you  like  it,  I  ’ll  go  on.” 

“Pray,  do;  it’s  quite  interesting.” 

“  I  thought  you ’d  find  it  so ;  selfish  people  always 
like  to  talk  about  themselves.” 


Lazy  Laurence  513 

“Am  /  selfish?”  The  question  slipped  out  involun¬ 
tarily  and  in  a  tone  of  surprise,  for  the  one  virtue  on 
which  he  prided  himself  was  generosity. 

“Yes,  very  selfish,”  continued  Amy,  in  a  calm,  cool 
voice,  twice  as  effective,  just  then,  as  an  angry  one. 
“  I  ’ll  show  you  how,  for  I ’ve  studied  you  while  we  have 
been  frolicking,  and  I ’m  not  at  all  satisfied  with  you. 
Here  you  have  been  abroad  nearly  six  months,  and  done 
nothing  but  waste  time  and  money  and  disappoint  your 
friends.” 

“  Is  n’t  a  fellow  to  have  any  pleasure  after  a  four-years 
grind  ?  ” 

“You  don’t  look  as  if  you ’d  had  much;  at  any  rate, 
you  are  none  the  better  for  it,  as  far  as  I  can  see.  I  said, 
when  we  first  met,  that  you  had  improved.  Now  I  take 
it  all  back,  for  I  don’t  think  you  half  so  nice  as  when  I 
left  you  at  home.  You  have  grown  abominably  lazy ; 
you  like  gossip,  and  waste  time  on  frivolous  things ;  you 
are  contented  to  be  petted  and  admired  by  silly  people, 
instead  of  being  loved  and  respected  by  wise  ones.  With 
money,  talent,  position,  health,  and  beauty,  —  ah,  you  like 
that,  Old  Vanity!  but  it’s  the  truth,  so  I  can’t  help  say¬ 
ing  it,  — with  all  these  splendid  things  to  use  and  enjoy, 
you  can  find  nothing  to  do  but  dawdle;  and,  instead  of 
being  the  man  you  might  and  ought  to  be,  you  are 
only  —  ”  There  she  stopped,  with  a  look  that  had  both 
pain  and  pity  in  it. 

“  Saint  Laurence  on  a  gridiron,”  added  Laurie,  blandly 
finishing  the  sentence.  But  the  lecture  began  to  take 
effect,  for  there  was  a  wide-awake  sparkle  in  his  eyes 
now,  and  a  half-angry,  half-injured  expression  replaced 
the  former  indifference. 

“  I  supposed  you ’d  take  it  so.  You  men  tell  us  we 
are  angels,  and  say  we  can  make  you  what  we  will ;  but 

33 


Little  Women 


5*4 

the  instant  we  honestly  try  to  do  you  good,  you  laugh  at 
us,  and  won’t  listen,  which  proves  how  much  your  flat¬ 
tery  is  worth.”  Amy  spoke  bitterly,  and  turned  her 
back  on  the  exasperating  martyr  at  her  feet. 

In  a  minute  a  hand  came  down  over  the  page,  so  that 
she  could  not  draw,  and  Laurie’s  voice  said,  with  a  droll 
imitation  of  a  penitent  child, — 

“  I  will  be  good,  oh,  I  will  be  good  !  ” 

But  Amy  did  not  laugh,  for  she  was  in  earnest;  and, 
tapping  on  the  outspread  hand  with  her  pencil,  said 
soberly,  — 

“Aren’t  you  ashamed  of  a  hand  like  that?  It’s  as 
soft  and  white  as  a  woman’s,  and  looks  as  if  it  never  did 
anything  but  wear  Jouvin’s  best  gloves,  and  pick  flowers 
for  ladies.  You  are  not  a  dandy,  thank  Heaven  !  so  I ’m 
glad  to  see  there  are  no  diamonds  or  big  seal-rings  on  it, 
only  the  little  old  one  Jo  gave  you  so  long  ago.  Dear 
soul,  I  wish  she  was  here  to  help  me  !  ” 

“So  do  I!” 

The  hand  vanished  as  suddenly  as  it  came,  and  there 
was  energy  enough  in  the  echo  of  her  wish  to  suit  even 
Amy.  She  glanced  down  at  him  with  a  new  thought  in 
her  mind ;  but  he  was  lying  with  his  hat  half  over  his 
face,  as  if  for  shade,  and  his  mustache  hid  his  mouth. 
She  only  saw  his  chest  rise  and  fall,  with  a  long  breath 
that  might  have  been  a  sigh,  and  the  hand  that  wore  the  • 
ring  nestled  down  into  the  grass,  as  if  to  hide  something 
too  precious  or  too  tender  to  be  spoken  of.  All  in  a 
minute  various  hints  and  trifles  assumed  shape  and 
significance  in  Amy’s  mind,  and  told  her  what  her  sister 
never  had  confided  to  her.  She  remembered  that  Laurie 
never  spoke  voluntarily  of  Jo;  she  recalled  the  shadow 
on  his  face  just  now,  the  change  in  his  character,  and 
the  wearing  of  the  little  old  ring,  which  was  no  ornament 


Lazy  Laurence  515 

to  a  handsome  hand.  Girls  are  quick  to  read  such  signs 
and  feel  their  eloquence.  Amy  had  fancied  that  perhaps 
a  love  trouble  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  alteration,  and 
now  she  was  sure  of  it.  Her  keen  eyes  filled,  and,  when 
she  spoke  again,  it  was  in  a  voice  that  could  be  beauti¬ 
fully  soft  and  kind  when  she  chose  to  make  it  so. 

“  I  know  I  have  no  right  to  talk  so  to  you,  Laurie ; 
and  if  you  were  n’t  the  sweetest-tempered  fellow  in  the 
world,  you  ’d  be  very  angry  with  me.  But  we  are  all  so 
fond  and  proud  of  you,  I  could  n’t  bear  to  think  they 
should  be  disappointed  in  you  at  home  as  I  have  been, 
though,  perhaps,  they  would  understand  the  change 
better  than  I  do.” 

“  I  think  they  would,”  came  from  under  the  hat,  in  a 
grim  tone,  quite  as  touching  as  a  broken  one. 

“  They  ought  to  have  told  me,  and  not  let  me  go  blun¬ 
dering  and  scolding,  when  I  should  have  been  more  kind 
and  patient  than  ever.  I  never  did  like  that  Miss  Ran¬ 
dal,  and  now  I  hate  her  !  ”  said  artful  Amy,  wishing  to 
be  sure  of  her  facts  this  time. 

“  Hang  Miss  Randal !  ”  and  Laurie  knocked  the  hat 
off  his  face  with  a  look  that  left  no  doubt  of  his  sentiments 
toward  that  young  lady. 

“I  beg  pardon;  I  thought  —  ”  and  there  she  paused 
diplomatically. 

“No,  you  didn’t;  you  knew  perfectly  well  I  never 
cared  for  any  one  but  Jo.”  Laurie  said  that  in  his 
old,  impetuous  tone,  and  turned  his  face  away  as  he 
spoke. 

“  I  did  think  so  ;  but  as  they  never  said  anything  about 
it,  and  you  came  away,  I  supposed  I  was  mistaken.  And 
Jo  would  n’t  be  kind  to  you  ?  Why,  I  was  sure  she  loved 
you  dearly.” 

<f  She  was  kind,  but  not  in  the  right  way;  and  it’s 


Little  Women 


516 

lucky  for  her  she  did  n’t  love  me,  if  I ’m  the  good-for- 
nothing  fellow  you  think  me.  It’s  her  fault,  though, 
and  you  may  tell  her  so.” 

The  hard,  bitter  look  came  back  again  as  he  said 
that,  and  it  troubled  Amy,  for  she  did  not  know  what 
balm  to  apply. 

“  I  was 'wrong,  I  did  n’t  know.  I ’m  very  sorry  I  was 
so  cross,  but  I  can’t  help  wishing  you ’d  bear  it  better, 
Teddy,  dear.” 

“  Don’t,  that ’s  her  name  for  me !  ”  and  Laurie  put 
up  his  hand  with  a  quick  gesture  to  stop  the  words 
spoken  in  Jo’s  half-kind,  half-reproachful  tone.  “Wait 
till  you ’ve  tried  it  yourself,  ”  he  added,  in  a  low  voice, 
as  he  pulled  up  the  grass  by  the  handful. 

“  I ’d  take  it  manfully,  and  be  respected  if  I  could  n’t 
be  loved,”  said  Amy,  with,  the  decision  of  one  who  knew 
nothing  about  it. 

Now,  Laurie  flattered  himself  that  he  had  borne  it 
remarkably  well,  making  no  moan,  asking  no  sympa¬ 
thy,  and  taking  his  trouble  away  to  live  it  down  alone. 
Amy’s  lecture  put  the  matter  in  a  new  light,  and  for  the 
first  time  it  did  look  weak  and  selfish  to  lose  heart 
at  the  first  failure,  and  shut  himself  up  in  moody  in¬ 
difference.  He  felt  as  if  suddenly  shaken  out  of  a 
pensive  dream,  and  found  it  impossible  to  go  to  sleep 
again.  Presently  he  sat  up,  and  asked  slowly,  — 

“  Do  you  think  Jo  would  despise  me  as  you  do?” 

“Yes,  if  she  saw  you  now.  She  hates  lazy  people 
Why  don’t  you  do  something  splendid,  and  make  her 
love  you  ?  ” 

“  I  did  my  best,  but  it  was  no  use.” 

“Graduating  well,  you  mean?  That  was  no  more 
than  you  ought  to  have  done,  for  your  grandfather’s 
sake.  It  would  have  been  shameful  to  fail  after  spend- 


Lazy  Laurence  517 

mg  so  much  time  and  money,  when  every  one  knew  you 
could  do  wrell.” 

“I  did  fail,  say  what  you  will,  for  Jo  wouldn’t  love 
me,”  began  Laurie,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand  in  a 
despondent  attitude. 

“  No,  you  did  n’t,  and  you  ’ll  say  so  in  the  end,  for  il 
did  you  good,  and  proved  that  you  could  do  something 
if  you  tried.  If  you ’d  only  set  about  another  task  of 
some  sort,  you’d  soon  be  your  hearty,  happy  self  again, 
and  forget  your  trouble.” 

“That ’s  impossible.” 

“  Try  it  and  see.  You  need  n’t  shrug  your  shoulders, 
and  think,  ‘  Much  she  knows  about  such  things.’  I 
don’t  pretend  to  be  wise,  but  I  am  observing,  and  I  see 
a  great  deal  more  than  you ’d  imagine.  I ’m  interested 
in  other  people’s  experiences  and  inconsistencies ;  and, 
though  I  can’t  explain,  I  remember  and  use  them  for 
my  own  benefit.  Love  Jo  all  your  days,  if  you  choose, 
but  don’t  let  it  spoil  you,  for  it’s  wicked  to  throw  away 
so  many  good  gifts  because  you  can’t  have  the  one  you 
want.  There,  I  won’t  lecture  any  more,  for  I  know 
you  ’ll  wake  up  and  be  a  man  in  spite  of  that  hard¬ 
hearted  girl.’’’ 

Neither  spoke  for  several  minutes.  Laurie  sat  turn¬ 
ing  the  little  ring  on  his  finger,  and  Amy  put  the  last 
touches  to  the  hasty  sketch  she  had  been  working  at 
while  she  talked.  Presently  she  put  it  on  his  knee, 
merely  saying, — 

“  How  do  you  like  that?  ” 

He  looked  and  then  he  smiled,  as  he  could  not  well 
help  doing,  for  it  was  capitally  done,  —  the  long,  lazy 
figure  on  the  grass,  with  listless  face,  half-shut  eyes, 
and  one  hand  holding  a  cigar,  from  which  came  the 
little  wreath  of  smoke  that  encircled  the  dreamer’s  head. 


Little  Women 


5  1 8 

“  How  well  you  draw  !  ”  he  said,  with  genuine  surprise 
and  pleasure  at  her  skill,  adding,  with  a  half-laugh,  — 

“  Yes,  that ’s  me.” 

“  As  you  are;  this  is  as  you  were;  ”  and  Amy  laid 
another  sketch  beside  the  one  he  held. 

It  was  not  nearly  so  well  done,  but  there  was  a  life 
and  spirit  in  it  which  atoned  for  many  faults,  and  it  re¬ 
called  the  past  so  vividly  that  a  sudden  change  swept 
over  the  young  man’s  face  as  he  looked.  Only  a  rough 
sketch  of  Laurie  taming  a  horse;  hat  and  coat  were  off. 
and  every  line  of  the  active  figure,  resolute  face,  and 
commanding  attitude,  was  full  of  energy  and  meaning. 
The  handsome  brute,  just  subdued,  stood  arching  his 
neck  under  the  tightly  drawn  rein,  with  one  foot  im¬ 
patiently  pawing  the  ground,  and  ears  pricked  up  as  if 
listening  for  the  voice  that  had  mastered  him.  In  the 
ruffled  mane,  the  rider’s  breezy  hair  and  erect  attitude, 
there  was  a  suggestion  of  suddenly  arrested  motion,  of 
strength,  courage,  and  youthful  buoyancy,  that  contrasted 
.sharply  with  the  supine  grace  of  the  “  Dolce  far  niente  ” 
sketch.  Laurie  said  nothing ;  but,  as  his  eye  went  from 
one  to  the  other,  Amy  saw  him  flush  up  and  fold  his 
lips  together  as  if  he  read  and  accepted  the  little  lesson 
she  had  given  him.  That  satisfied  her;  and,  without 
waiting  for  him  to  speak,  she  said,  in  her  sprightly 
way, — 

“  Don’t  you  remember  the  day  you  played  Rarey 
with  Puck,  and  we  all  looked  on?  Meg  and  Beth  were 
frightened,  but  Jo  clapped  and  pranced,  and  I  sat  on  the 
fence  and  drew  you.  I  found  that  sketch  in  my  port¬ 
folio  the  other  day,  touched  it  up,  and  kept  it  to  show 
you.” 

“  Much  obliged.  You’ve  improved  immensely  since 
then,  and  I  congratulate  you.  May  I  venture  to  sug- 


Lazy  Laurence  519 

gest  in  *  a  honeymoon  Paradise  ’ .  that  five  o’clock  is  the 
dinner-hour  at  your  hotel?  ” 

Laurie  rose  as  he  spoke,  returned  the  pictures  with  a 
smile  and  a  bow,  and  looked  at  his  watch,  as  if  to  re¬ 
mind  her  that  even  moral  lectures  should  have  an  end. 
He  tried  to  resume  his  former  easy,  indifferent  air,  but 
it  was  an  affectation  now,  for  the  rousing  had  been  more 
efficacious  than  he  would  confess.  Amy  felt  the  shade 
of  coldness  in  his  manner,  and  said  to  herself, — 

“  Now  I  ’ve  offended  him.  Well,  if  it  does  him  good, 
I’m  glad;  if  it  makes  him  hate  me,  I’m  sorry;  but 
it ’s  true,  and  I  can’t  take  back  a  word  of  it.” 

They  laughed  and  chatted  all  the  way  home ;  and 
little  Baptiste,  up  behind,  thought  that  monsieur  and 
mademoiselle  were  in  charming  spirits.  But  both  felt 
ill  at  ease  ;  the  friendly  frankness  was  disturbed,  the  sun¬ 
shine  had  a  shadow  over  it,  and,  despite  their  apparent 
gayety,  there  was  a  secret  discontent  in  the  heart  of  each. 

“Shall  we  see  you  this  evening,  mon  frere f”  asked 
Amy,  as  they  parted  at  her  aunt’s  door. 

“Unfortunately,  I  have  an  engagement.  An  revoii\ 
mademoiselle  A  and  Laurie  bent  as  if  to  kiss  her  hand, 
in  the  foreign  fashion,  which  became  him  better  than 
many  men.  Something  in  his  face  made  Amy  say 
quickly  and  warmly,  — 

“No;  be  yourself  with  me,  Laurie,  and  part  in  the 
good  old  way.  I ’d  rather  have  a  hearty  English  hand¬ 
shake  than  all  the  sentimental  salutations  in  France.” 

“  Good-by,  dear,”  and  with  these  words,  uttered  in  the 
tone  she  liked,  Laurie  left  her,  after  a  hand-shake  almost 
painful  in  its  heartiness. 

Next  morning,  instead  of  the  usual  call,  Amy  received 
a  note  which  made  her  smile  at  the  beginning  and  sigh 
at  the  end  :  — 


Little  Women 


52° 

“  My  dear  Mentor,  — 

“  Please  make  my  adieux  to  your  aunt,  and  exult  within 
yourself,  for  ‘  Lazy  Laurence  ’  has  gone  to  his  grandpa,  like 
the  best  of  boys.  A  pleasant  winter  to  you,  and  may  the  gods 
grant  you  a  blissful  honeymoon  at  Valrosa  !  I  think  Fred  would 
be  benefited  by  a  rouser.  Tell  him  so,  with  my  congratulations. 

“  Yours  gratefully,  Telemachus.” 

“  Good  boy  !  I  ’m  glad  he  ’s  gone,”  said  Amy,  with  an 
approving  smile  ;  the  next  minute  her  face  fell  as  she 
glanced  about  the  empty  room,  adding,  with  an  involun¬ 
tary  sigh,  — 

“  Yes,  I  am  glad,  but  how  I  shall  miss  him !  ” 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW 

WHEN  the  first  bitterness  was  over,  the  family 
accepted  the  inevitable,  and  tried  to  bear  it 
cheerfully,  helping  one  another  by  the  in¬ 
creased  affection  which  comes  to  bind  households  ten¬ 
derly  together  in  times  of  trouble.  They  put  away  their 
grief,  and  each  did  his  or  her  part  toward  making  that 
last  year  a  happy  one. 

The  pleasantest  room  in  the  house  was  set  apart  for 
Beth,  and  in  it  was  gathered  everything  that  she  most 
loved,  —  flowers,  pictures,  her  piano,  the  little  work¬ 
table,  and  the  beloved  pussies.  Father’s  best  books 
found  their  way  there,  mother’s  easy-chair,  Jo’s  desk, 
Amy’s  finest  sketches ;  and  every  day  Meg  brought  her 
babies  on  a  loving  pilgrimage,  to  make  sunshine  for 
Aunty  Beth.  John  quietly  set  apart  a  little  sum,  that 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow  521 

he  might  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  keeping  the  invalid  sup¬ 
plied  with  the  fruit  she  loved  and  longed  for;  old 
Hannah  never  wearied  of  concocting  dainty  dishes  to 
tempt  a  capricious  appetite,  dropping  tears  as  she 
worked ;  and  from  across  the  sea  came  little  gifts  and 
cheerful  letters,  seeming  to  bring  breaths  of  warmth  and 
fragrance  from  lands  that  know  no  winter. 

Here,  cherished  like  a  household  saint  in  its  shrine, 
sat  Beth,  tranquil  and  busy  as  ever;  for  nothing  could 
change  the  sweet,  unselfish  nature,  and  even  while  pre¬ 
paring  to  leave  life,  she  tried  to  make  it  happier  for 
those  who  should  remain  behind.  The  feeble  fingers 
were  never  idle,  and  one  of  her  pleasures  was  to  make 
little  things  for  the  school-children  daily  passing  to  and 
fro,  —  to  drop  a  pair  of  mittens  from  her  window  for 
a  pair  of  purple  hands,  a  needle-book  for  some  small 
mother  of  many  dolls,  pen-wipers  for  young  penmen 
toiling  through  forests  of  pot-hooks,  scrap-books  for 
picture-loving  eyes,  and  all  manner  of  pleasant  de¬ 
vices,  till  the  reluctant  climbers  up  the  ladder  of  learn¬ 
ing  found  their  way  strewn  with  flowers,  as  it  were,  and 
came  to  regard  the  gentle  giver  as  a  sort  of  fairy  god¬ 
mother,  who  sat  above  there,  and  showered  down  gifts 
miraculously  suited  to  their  tastes  and  needs.  If  Beth 
had  wanted  any  reward,  she  found  it  in  the  bright  little 
faces  always  turned  up  to  her  window,  with  nods  and 
smiles,  and  the  droll  little  letters  which  came  to  her, 
full  of  blots  and  gratitude. 

The  first  few  months  were  very  happy  ones,  and 
Beth  often  used  to  look  round,  and  say  “  How  beauti¬ 
ful  this  is  !  ”  as  they  all  sat  together  in  her  sunny  room, 
the  babies  kicking  and  crowing  on  the  floor,  mother  and 
sisters  working  near,  and  father  reading,  in  his  pleasant 
voice,  from  the  wise  old  books  which  seemed  rich  in 


Little  Women 


522 

good  and  comfortable  words,  as  applicable  now  as 
when  written  centuries  ago;  a  little  chapel,  where  a 
paternal  priest  taught  his  flock  the  hard  lessons  all 
must  learn,  trying  to  show  them  that  hope  can  com¬ 
fort  love,  and  faith  make  resignation  possible.  Simple 
sermons,  that  went  straight  to  the  souls  of  those  who 
listened ;  for  the  father’s  heart  was  in  the  minister’s 
religion,  and  the  frequent  falter  in  the  voice  gave  a 
double  eloquence  to  the  words  he  spoke  or  read. 

It  was  well  for  all  that  this  peaceful  time  was  given 
them  as  preparation  for  the  sad  hours  to  come ;  for,  by 
and  by,  Beth  said  the  needle  was  “  so  heavy,”  and  put 
it  down  forever ;  talking  wearied  her,  faces  troubled  her, 
pain  claimed  her  for  its  own,  and  her  tranquil  spirit  was 
sorrowfully  perturbed  by  the  ills  that  vexed  her  feeble 
flesh.  Ah  me  !  such  heavy  days,  such  long,  long  nights, 
such  aching  hearts  and  imploring  prayers,  when  those 
who  loved  her  best  were  forced  to  see  the  thin  hands 
stretched  out  to  them  beseechingly,  to  hear  the  bitter 
cry,  “Help  me,  help  me!  ”  and  to  feel  that  there  was 
no  help.  A  sad  eclipse*  of  the  serene  soul,  a  sharp 
struggle  of  the  young  life  wTith  death ;  but  both  were 
mercifully  brief,  and  then,  the  natural  rebellion  over, 
the  old  peace  returned  more  beautiful  than  ever.  With 
the  wreck  of  her  frail  body,  Beth’s  soul  grew  strong; 
and,  though  she  said  little,  those  about  her  felt  that 
she  was  ready,  saw  that  the  first  pilgrim  called  was 
likewise  the  fittest,  and  waited  with  her  on  the  shore, 
trying  to  see  the  Shining  Ones  coming  to  receive  her 
when  she  crossed  the  river. 

Jo  never  left  her  for  an  hour  since  Beth  had  said,  “  I 
feel  stronger  when  you  are  here.”  She  slept  on  a 
couch  in  the  room,  waking  often  to  renew  the  fire,  to 
feed,  lift,  or  wait  upon  the  patient  creature  who  seldom 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow  523 

asked  for  anything,  and  “  tried  not  to  be  a  trouble.” 
All  day  she  haunted  the  room,  jealous  of  any  other 
nurse,  and  prouder  of  being  chosen  then  than  of  any 
honor  her  life  ever  brought  her.  Precious  and  helpful 
hours  to  Jo,  for  now  her  heart  received  the  teaching 
that  it  needed ;  lessons  in  patience  were  so  sweetly 
taught  her  that  she  could  not  fail  to  learn  them ; 
charity  for  all,  the  lovely  spirit  that  can  forgive  and 
truly  forget  unkindness,  the  loyalty  to  duty  that  makes 
the  hardest  easy,  and  the  sincere  faith  that  fears  noth¬ 
ing,  but  trusts  undoubtingly. 

Often,  when  she  woke,  Jo  found  Beth  reading  in  her 
well-worn  little  book,  heard  her  singing  softly,  to  be¬ 
guile  'the  sleepless  night,  or  saw  her  lean  her  face  upon 
her  hands,  while  slow  tears  dropped  through  the  trans¬ 
parent  fingers;  and  Jo  would  lie  watching  her,  with 
thoughts  too  deep  for  tears,  feeling  that  Beth,  in  her 
simple,  unselfish  way,  was  trying  to  wean  herself  from 
the  dear  old  life,  and  fit  herself  for  the  life  to  come,  by 
sacred  words  of  comfort,  quiet  prayers,  and  the  music 
she  loved  so  well. 

Seeing  this  did  more  for  Jo  than  the  wisest  sermons, 
the  saintliest  hymns,  the  most  fervent  prayers  that  any 
voice  could  utter;  for,  with  eyes  made  clear  by  many 
tears,  and  a  heart  softened  by  the  tenderest  sorrow,  she 
recognized  the  beauty  of  her  sister’s  life,  —  uneventful, 
unambitious,  yet-  full  of  the  genuine  virtues  which 
“  smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  the  dust,”  the  self-for¬ 
getfulness  that  makes  the  humblest  on  earth  remem- 
bered  soonest  in  heaven,  the  true  success  which  is 
possible  to  all. 

One  night,  when  Beth  looked  among  the  books  upon 
her  table,  to  find  something  to  make  her  forget  the 
mortal  weariness  that  was  almost  as  hard  to  bear  as 


Little  Women 


524 

pain,  as  she  turned  the  leaves  of  her  old  favorite  Pil¬ 
grim’s  Progress,  she  found  a  little  paper,  scribbled  over 
in  Jo’s  hand.  The  name  caught  her  eye,  and  the 
blurred  look  of  the  lines  made  her  sure  that  tears  had 
fallen  on  it. 

“Poor  Jo!  she’s  fast  asleep,  so  I  won’t  wake  her  to 
ask  leave ;  she  shows  me  all  her  things,  and  I  don’t 
think  she’ll  mind  if  I  look  at  this,”  thought  Beth,  with 
a  glance  at  her  sister,  who  lay  on  the  rug,  with  the 
tongs  beside  her,  ready  to  wake  up  the  minute  the  log 
fell  apart. 


“MY  BETH. 

“Sitting  patiently  in  the  shadow 
Till  the  blessed  light  shall  come, 

A  serene  and  saintly  presence 
Sanctifies  our  troubled  home. 

Earthly  joys  and  hopes  and  sorrows 
Break  like  ripples  on  the  strand 
Of  the  deep  and  solemn  river 

Where  her  willing  feet  now  stand. 

“  O  my  sister,  passing  from  me, 

Out  of  human  care  and  strife, 

Leave  me,  as  a  gift,  those  virtues 
Which  have  beautified  your  life. 

Dear,  bequeath  me  that  great  patience 
Which  has  power  to  sustain 
A  cheerful,  uncomplaining  spirit 
In  its  prison-house  of  pain. 

“  Give  me,  for  I  need  it  sorely, 

Of  that  courage,  wise  and  sweet, 
Which  has  made  the  path  of  duty 
Green  beneath  your  willing  feet. 

Give  me  that  unselfish  nature, 

That  with  charity  divine 
Can  pardon  wrong  for  love’s  dear  sake=s 
Meek  heart,  forgive  me  mine  ! 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow  5  25 

Thus  our  parting  daily  loseth 
Something  of  its  bitter  pain. 

And  while  learning  this  hard  lesson, 

My  great  loss  becomes  my  gain. 

For  the  touch  of  grief  will  render 
My  wild  nature  more  serene, 

Give  to  life  new  aspirations, 

A  new  trust  in  the  unseen. 

“  Henceforth,  safe  across  the  river, 

I  shall  see  forevermore 
A  beloved,  household  spirit 
Waiting  forme  on  the  shore. 

Hope  and  faith,  born  of  my  sorrow, 

Guardian  angels  shall  become, 

And  the  sister  gone  before  me 

By  their  hands  shall  lead  me  home.” 

Blurred  and  blotted,  faulty  and  feeble,  as  the  lines 
were,  they  brought  a  look  of  inexpressible  comfort  to 
Beth’s  face,  for  her  one  regret  had  been  that  she  had 
done  so  little  ;  and  this  seemed  to  assure  her  that  her 
life  had  not  been  useless,  that  her  death  would  not 
bring  the  despair  she  feared.  As  she  sat  with  the 
paper  folded  between  her  hands,  the  charred  log  fell 
asunder.  Jo  started  up,  revived  the  blaze,  and  crept 
to  the  bedside,  hoping  Beth  slept. 

“  Not  asleep,  but  so  happy,  dear.  See,  I  found  this 
and  read  it;  I  knew  you  wouldn’t  care.  Have  I  been 
all  that  to  you,  Jo?”  she  asked,  with  wistful,  humble 
earnestness. 

“  O  Beth,  so  much,  so  much  !  ”  and  Jo’s  head  went 
down  upon  the  pillow,  beside  her  sister’s. 

“  Then  I  don’t  feel  as  if  I ’d  wasted  my  life.  I  ’m  not 
so  good  as  you  make  me,  but  I  have  tried  to  do  right; 
and  now,  when  it ’s  too  late  to  begin  even  to  do  better, 
it ’s  such  a  comfort  to  know  that  some  one  loves  me  so 
much,  and  feels  as  if  I ’d  helped  them.” 


Little  Women 


526 

“  More  than  any  one  in  the  world,  Beth.  I  used 
to  think  I  could  n’t  let  you  go ;  but  I ’m  learning  to 
feel  that  I  don’t  lose  you ;  that  you  ’ll  be  more  to 
me  than  ever,  and  death  can’t  part  us,  though  it 
seems  to.” 

“  I  know  it  cannot,  and  I  don’t  fear  it  any  longer,  for 
I ’m  sure  I  shall  be  your  Beth  still,  to  love  and  help  you 
more  than  ever.  You  must  take  my  place,  Jo,  and  be 
everything  to  father  and  mother  when  I  ’m  gone.  They 
will  turn  to  you,  don’t  fail  them ;  and  if  it ’s  hard  to 
work  alone,  remember  that  I  don’t  forget  you,  and  that 
you  ’ll  be  happier  in  doing  that  than  writing  splendid 
books  or  seeing  all  the  world  ;  for  love  is  the  only  thing 
that  we  can  carry  with  us  when  we  go,  and  it  makes  the 
end  so  easy.” 

“  I  ’ll  try,  Beth;  ”  and  then  and  there  Jo  renounced 
her  old  ambition,  pledged  herself  to  a  new  and  better 
one,  acknowledging  the  poverty  of  other  desires,  and 
feeling  the  blessed  solace  of  a  belief  in  the  immortality 
of  love. 

So  the  spring  days  came  and  went,  the  sky  grew  clearer, 
the  earth  greener,  the  flowers  were  up  fair  and  early, 
and  the  birds  came  back  in  time  to  say  good-by  to  Beth, 
who,  like  a  tired  but  trustful  child,  clung  to  the  hands 
that  had  led  her  all  her  life,  as  father  and  mother  guided 
her  tenderly  through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow,  and  gave 
her  up  to  God. 

Seldom,  except  in  books,  do  the  dying  utter  memor¬ 
able  words,  see  visions,  or  depart  with  beatified  counte¬ 
nances ;  and  those  who  have  sped  many  parting  souls 
know  that  to  most  the  end  comes  as  naturally  and 
simply  as  sleep.  As  Beth  had  hoped,  the  “  tide  went 
out  easily;  ”  and  in  the  dark  hour  before  the  dawn,  on 
the  bosom  where  she  had  drawn  her  first  breath,  she 


Learning  to  Forget  527 

quietly  drew  her  last,  with  no  farewell  but  one  loving 
look,  one  little  sigh. 

With  tears  and  prayers  and  tender  hands,  mother  and 
sisters  made  her  ready  for  the  long  sleep  that  pain  would 
never  mar  again,  seeing  with  grateful  eyes  the  beautiful 
serenity  that  soon  replaced  the  pathetic  patience  that 
had  wrung  their  hearts  so  long,  and  feeling,  with  rev¬ 
erent  joy,  that  to  their  darling  death  was  a  benignant 
angel,  not  a  phantom  full  of  dread. 

When  morning  came,  for  the  first  time  in  many 
months  the  fire  was  out,  Jo’s  place  was  empty,  and  the 
room  was  very  still.  But  a  bird  sang  blithely  on  a  bud¬ 
ding  bough,  close  by,  the  snow-drops  blossomed  freshly 
at  the  window,  and  the  spring  sunshine  streamed  in 
like  a  benediction  over  the  placid  face  upon  the  pillow, 
—  a  face  so  full  of  painless  peace  that  those  who  loved  it 
best  smiled  through  their  tears,  and  thanked  God  that 
Beth  was  well  at  last. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

LEARNING  TO  FORGET 

AMY’S  lecture  did  Laurie  good,  though,  of  course, 
he  did  not  own  it  till  long  afterward;  men  sel¬ 
dom  do,  for  when  women  are  the  advisers,  the 
lords  of  creation  don’t  take  the  advice  till  they  have  per¬ 
suaded  themselves  that  it  is  just  what  they  intended  to 
do  ;  then  they  act  upon  it,  and,  if  it  succeeds,  they  give 
the  weaker  vessel  half  the  credit  of  it ;  if  it  fails,  they 
generously  give  her  the  whole.  Laurie  went  back  to  his 
grandfather,  and  was  so  dutifully  devoted  for  several 
weeks  that  the  old  gentleman  declared  the  climate  of 

1 

I 


I 


Little  Women 


528 

Nice  had  improved  him  wonderfully,  and  he  had  better 
try  it  again.  There  was  nothing  the  young  gentleman 
would  have  liked  better,  but  elephants  could  not  have 
dragged  him  back  after  the  scolding  he  had  received ; 
pride  forbid,  and  whenever  the  longing  grew  very  strong, 
he  fortified  his  resolution  by  repeating  the  words  that 
had  made  the  deepest  impression,  “  I  despise  you ;  ” 
“  Go  and  do  something  splendid  that  will  make  her  love 
you. 

Laurie  turned  the  matter  over  in  his  mind  so  often 
that  he  soon  brought  himself  to  confess  that  he  had 
been  selfish  and  lazy;  but  then  when  a  man  has  a  great 
sorrow,  he  should  be  indulged  in  all  sorts  of  vagaries 
till  he  has  lived  it  down.  He  felt  that  his  blighted  affec¬ 
tions  were  quite  dead  now;  and,  though  he  should  never 
cease  to  be  a  faithful  mourner,  there  was  no  occasion  to 
wear  his  weeds  ostentatiously.  Jo  wouldn't  love  him, 
but  he  might  make  her  respect  and  admire  him  by  doing 
something  which  should  prove  that  a  girl’s  “  No  ”  had 
not  spoilt  his  life.  He  had  always  meant  to  do  some¬ 
thing,  and  Amy’s  advice  was  quite  unnecessary.  He 
had  only  been  waiting  till  the  aforesaid  blighted  affec¬ 
tions  were  decently  interred  ;  that  being  done,  he  felt 
that  he  was  ready  to  “  hide  his  stricken  heart,  and  still 
toil  on.” 

As  Goethe,  when  he  had  a  joy  or  a  grief,  put  it  into  a 
song,  so  Laurie  resolved  to  embalm  his  love-sorrow  in 
music,  and  compose  a  Requiem  which  should  harrow  up 
Jo’s  soul  and  melt  the  heart  of  every  hearer.  Therefore 
the  next  time  the  old  gentleman  found  him  getting  rest¬ 
less  and  moody,  and  ordered  him  off,  he  went  to  Vienna, 
where  he  had  musical  friends,  and  fell  to  work  with  the 
firm  determination  to  distinguish  himself.  But,  whether 
the  sorrow  was  too  vast  to  be  embodied  in  music,  or 


Learning  to  Forget  529 

music  too  ethereal  to  uplift  a  mortal  woe,  he  soon  dis¬ 
covered  that  the  Requiem  was  beyond  him,  just  at 
present.  It  was  evident  that  his  mind  was  not  in 
working  order  yet,  and  his  ideas  needed  clarifying; 
for  often  in  the  middle  of  a  plaintive  strain,  he  would 
find  himself  humming  a  dancing  tune  that  vividly  re¬ 
called  the  Christmas  ball  at  Nice,  especially  the  stout 
Frenchman,  and  put  an  effectual  stop  to  tragic  compo¬ 
sition  for  the  time  being. 

Then  he  tried  an  Opera,  for  nothing  seemed  impos¬ 
sible  in  the  beginning;  but  here,  again,  unforeseen  diffi¬ 
culties  beset  him.  He  wanted  Jo  for  his  heroine,  and 
called  upon  his  memory  to  supply  him  with  tender 
recollections  and  romantic  visions  of  his  love.  But 
memory  turned  traitor;  and,  as  if  possessed  by  the 
perverse  spirit  of  the  girl,  would  only  recall  Jo’s  oddi¬ 
ties,  faults,  and  freaks,  would  only  show  her  in  the  most 
unsentimental  aspects,  —  beating  mats  with  her  head 
tied  up  in  a  bandanna,  barricading  herself  with  the 
sofa-pillow,  or  throwing  cold  water  over  his  passion 
ala  Gummidge, — and  an  irresistible  laugh  spoilt  the 
pensive  picture  he  was  endeavoring  to  paint.  Jo 
would  n’t  be  put  into  the  Opera  at  any  price,  and  he 
had  to  give  her  up  with  a  “  Bless  that  girl,  what  a  tor¬ 
ment  she  is  !  ”  and  a  clutch  at  his  hair,  as  became  a 
distracted  composer. 

When  he  looked  about  him  for  another  and  a  less 
intractable  damsel  to  immortalize  in  melody,  memory 
produced  one  with  the  most  obliging  readiness.  This 
phantom  wore  many  faces,  but  it  always  had  golden 
hair,  was  enveloped  in  a  diaphanous  cloud,  and  floated 
airily  before  his  mind’s  eye  in  a  pleasing  chaos  of  roses, 
peacocks,  white  ponies,  and  blue  ribbons.  He  did  not 
give  the  complacent  wraith  any  name,  but  he  took  her 

34  , 


Little  Women 


53° 

for  his  heroine,  and  grew  quite  fond  of  her,  as  well  he 
might;  for  he  gifted  her  with  every  gift  and  grace  under 
the  sun,  and  escorted  her,  unscathed,  through  trials 
which  would  have  annihilated  any  mortal  woman. 

Thanks  to  this  inspiration,  he  got  on  swimmingly  for 
a  time,  but  gradually  the  work  lost  its  charm,  and  he  for¬ 
got  to  compose,  while  he  sat  musing,  pen  in  hand,  or 
roamed  about  the  gay  city  to  get  new  ideas  and  refresh 
his  mind,  which  seemed  to  be  in  a  somewhat  unsettled 
state  that  winter.  He  did  not  do  much,  but  he  thought 
a  great  deal  and  was  conscious  of  a  change  of  some  sort 
going  on  in  spite  of  himself.  “  It ’s  genius  simmering, 
perhaps.  I  ’ll  let  it  simmer,  and  see  what  comes  of  it,” 
he  said,  with  a  secret  suspicion,  all  the  while,  that  it 
wasn’t  genius,  but  something  far  more  common.  What¬ 
ever  it  was,  it  simmered  to  some  purpose,  for  he  grew 
more  and  more  discontented  with  his  desultory  life,  be¬ 
gan  to  long  for  some  real  and  earnest  work  to  go  at, 
soul  and  body,  and  finally  came  to  the  wise  conclusion 
that  every  one  who  loved  music  was  not  a  composer. 
Returning  from  one  of  Mozart’s  grand  operas,  splendidly 
performed  at  the  Royal  Theatre,  he  looked  over  his  own, 
played  a  few  of  the  best  parts,  sat  staring  up  at  the  busts 
of  Mendelssohn,  Beethoven,  and  Bach,  who  stared  be¬ 
nignly  back  again ;  then  suddenly  he  tore  up  his  music- 
sheets,  one  by  one,  and,  as  the  last  fluttered  out  of  his 
hand,  he  said  soberly  to  himself,  — 

“She  is  right!  Talent  isn’t  genius,  and  you  can’t 
make  it  so.  That  music  has  taken  the  vanity  out  of  me 
as  Rome  took  it  out  of  her,  and  I  won’t  be  a  humbug 
any  longer.  Now  what  shall  I  do?  ” 

That  seemed  a  hard  question  to  answer,  and  Laurie 
began  to  wish  he  had  to  work  for  his  daily  bread.  Now, 
if  ever,  occurred  an  eligible  opportunity  for  “  going  to 


Learning  to  Forget  531 

the  devil,”  as  he  once  forcibly  expressqd  it,  for  he  had 
plenty  of  money  and  nothing  to  do,  and  Satan  is  pro¬ 
verbially  fond  of  providing  employment  for  full  and 
idle  hands.  The  poor  fellow  had  temptations  enough 
from  without  and  from  within,  but  he  withstood  them 
pretty  well ;  for,  much  as  he  valued  liberty,  he  valued 
good  faith  and  confidence  more,  so  his  promise  to  his 
grandfather,  and  his  desire  to  be  able  to  look  honestly 
into  the  eyes  of  the  women  who  loved  him,  and  say, 
“  All ’s  well,”  kept  him  safe  and  steady. 

Very  likely  some  Mrs.  Grundy  will  observe,  “  I  don’t 
believe  it;  boys  will  be  boys,  young  men  must  sow 
their  wild  oats,  and  women  must  not  expect  miracles.”  I 
dare  sa  y  you  don’t,  Mrs.  Grundy,  but  it’s  true  neverthe¬ 
less.  Women  work  a  good  many  miracles,  and  I  have 
a  persuasion  that  they  may  perform  even  that  of  raising 
the  standard  of  manhood  by  refusing  to  echo  such  say¬ 
ings.  Let  the  boys  be  boys,  the  longer  the  better,  and 
let  the  young  men  sow  their  wild  oats  if  they  must;  but 
mothers,  sisters,  and  friends  may  help  to  make  the  crop 
a  small  one,  and  keep  many  tares  from  spoiling  the 
harvest,  by  believing,  and  showing  that  they  believe,  in 
the  possibility  of  loyalty  to  the  virtues  which  make  men 
manliest  in  good  women’s  eyes.  If  it  is  a  feminine 
delusion,  leave  us  to  enjoy  it  while  we  may,  for  without 
it  half  the  beauty  and  the  romance  of  life  is  lost,  and 
sorrowful  forebodings  would  embitter  all  our  hopes  of 
the  brave,  tender-hearted  little  lads,  who  still  love  their 
mothers  better  than  themselves,  and  are  not  ashamed 
to  own  it. 

Laurie  thought  that  the  task  of  forgetting  his  love  for 
Jo  would  absorb  all  his  powers  for  years;  but,  to  his 
great  surprise,  he  discovered  it  grew  easier  every  day. 
He  refused  to  believe  it  at  first,  got  angry  with  himself. 


Little  Women 


S32 

and  could  n’t  understand  it ;  but  these  hearts  of  ours  are 
curious  and  contrary  things,  and  time  and  nature  work 
their  will  in  spite  of  us.  Laurie’s  heart  would  n't  ache ; 
the  wound  persisted  in  healing  with  a  rapidity  that 
astonished  him,  and,  instead  of  trying  to  forget,  he 
found  himself  trying  to  remember.  He  had  not  fore¬ 
seen  this  turn  of  affairs,  and  was  not  prepared  for  it. 
He  was  disgusted  with  himself,  surprised  at  his  own 
fickleness,  and  full  of  a  queer  mixture  of  disappoint¬ 
ment  and  relief  that  he  could  recover  from  such  a  tre¬ 
mendous  blow  so  soon.  He  carefully  stirred  up  the 
embers  of  his  lost  love,  but  they  refused  to  burst  into  a 
blaze:  there  was  only  a  comfortable  glow  that  warmed 
and  did  him  good  without  putting  him  into  a  fever,  and 
he  was  reluctantly  obliged  to  confess  that  the  boyish 
passion  was  slowly  subsiding  into  a  more  tranquil  senti¬ 
ment,  very  tender,  a  little  sad  and  resentful  still,  but  that 
was  sure  to  pass  away  in  time,  leaving  a  brotherly  affec¬ 
tion  which  would  last  unbroken  to  the  end. 

As  the  word  “brotherly”  passed  through  his  mind  in 
one  of  these  reveries,  he  smiled,  and  glanced  up  at  the 
picture  of  Mozart  that  was  before  him:  — 

“Well,  he  was  a  great  man;  and  when  he  couldn’t 
have  one  sister  he  took  the  other,  and  was  happy.” 

Laurie  did  not  utter  the  words,  but  he  thought  them ; 
and  the  next  instant  kissed  the  little  old  ring,  saying  to 
himself,  — 

“No,  I  won’t!  I  have  n’t  forgotten,  I  never  can.  I  ’ll 
try  again,  and  if  that  fails,  why,  then  —  ” 

Leaving  his  sentence  unfinished,  he  seized  pen  and 
paper  and  wrote  to  Jo,  telling  her  that  he  could  not 
settle  to  anything  while  there  was  the  least  hope  of  her 
changing  her  mind.  Could  n’t  she,  would  n’t  she,  and 
let  him  come  home  and  be  happy?  While  waiting  for 


Learning  to  Forget  533 

an  answer  he  did  nothing,  but  he  did  it  energetically, 
for  he  was  in  a  fever  of  impatience.  It  came  at  last,  and 
settled  his  mind  effectually  on  one  point,  for  Jo  de¬ 
cidedly  could  n’t  and  would  n’t.  She  was  wrapped  up 
in  Beth,  and  never  wished  to  hear  the  word  “  love  ” 
again.  Then  she  begged  him  to  be  happy  with  some¬ 
body  else,  but  always  to  keep  a  little  corner  of  his  heart 
for  his  loving  sister  Jo.  In  a  postscript  she  desired  him 
not  to  tell  Amy  that  Beth  was  worse ;  she  was  coming 
home  in  the  spring,  and  there  was  no  need  of  saddening 
the  remainder  of  her  stay.  That  would  be  time  enough, 
please  God,  but  Laurie  must  write  to  her  often,  and  not 
let  her  feel  lonely,  homesick,  or  anxious. 

“  So  I  will,  at  once.  Poor  little  girl ;  it  will  be  a  sad 
going  home  for  her,  I  ’m  afraid ;  ”  and  Laurie  opened 
his  desk,  as  if  writing  to  Amy  had  been  the  proper 
conclusion  of  the  sentence  left  unfinished  some  weeks 
before. 

But  he  did  not  write  the  letter  that  day ;  for,  as  he 
rummaged  out  his  best  paper,  he  came  across  something 
which  changed  his  purpose.  Tumbling  about  in  one 
part  of  the  desk,  among  bills,  passports,  and  business 
documents  of  various  kinds  were  several  of  Jo’s  letters, 
and  in  another  compartment  were  three  notes  from 
Amy,  carefully  tied  up  with  one  of  her  blue  ribbons, 
and  sweetly  suggestive  of  the  little  dead  roses  put  away 
inside.  With  a  half-repentant,  half-amused  expression, 
Laurie  gathered  up  all  Jo’s  letters,  smoothed,  folded, 
and  put  them  neatly  into  a  small  drawer  of  the  desk, 
stood  a  minute  turning  the  ring  thoughtfully  on  his  fin¬ 
ger,  then  slowly  drew  it  off,  laid  it  with  the  letters, 
locked  the  drawer,  and  went  out  to  hear  High  Mass  at 
Saint  Stefan’s,  feeling  as  if  there  had  been  a  funeral; 
and,  though  not  overwhelmed  with  affliction,  this  seemed 


Little  Women 


534 

a  more  proper  way  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  than  in 
writing  letters  to  charming  young  ladies. 

The  letter  went  very  soon,  however,  and  was  promptly 
answered,  for  Amy  was  homesick,  and  confessed  it  in 
the  most  delightfully  confiding  manner.  The  corre¬ 
spondence  flourished  famously,  and  letters  flew  to  and 
fro,  with  unfailing  regularity,  all  through  the  early 
spring.  Laurie  sold  his  busts,  made  allumettes  of  his 
opera,  and  went  back  to  Paris,  hoping  somebody  would 
arrive  before  long,  fie  wanted  desperately  to  go  to 
Nice,  but  would  not  till  he  was  asked;  and  Amy  would 
not  ask  him,  for  just  then  she  was  having  little  expe¬ 
riences  of  her  own,  which  made  her  rather  wish  to  avoid 
the  quizzical  eyes  of  “  our  boy.” 

Fred  Vaughn  had  returned,  and  put  the  question  to 
which  she  had  once  decided  to  answer,  “Yes,  thank 
you;  ”  but  now  she  said,  “  No,  thank  you,”  kindly  but 
steadily;  for,  when  the  time  came,  her  courage  failed 
her,  and  she  found  that  something  more  than  money 
and  position  was  needed  to  satisfy  the  new  longing  that 
filled  her  heart  so  full  of  tender  hopes  and  fears.  The 
words,  “  Fred  is  a  good  fellow,  but  not  at  all  the  man  I 
fancied  you  would  ever  like,”  and  Laurie’s  face  when  he 
uttered  them,  kept  returning  to  her  as  pertinaciously  as 
her  own  did  when  she  said  in  look,  if  not  in  words,  “  I 
shall  marry  for  money.”  It  troubled  her  to  remembef 
that  now,  she  wished  she  could  take  it  back,  it  sounded 
so  unwomanly.  She  did  n’t  want  Laurie  to  think  her 
a  heartless,  worldly  creature;  she  didn’t  care  to  be  a 
queen  of  society  now  half  so  much  as  she  did  to  be 
a  lovable  woman ;  she  was  so  glad  he  did  n’t  hate  her 
for  the  dreadful  things  she  said,  but  took  them  so 
beautifully,  and  was  kinder  than  ever.  His  letters  were 
such  a  comfort,  for  the  home  letters  were  very  irregular, 


Learning  to  Forget  535 

and  were  not  half  so  satisfactory  as  his  when  they  did 
come.  It  was  not  only  a  pleasure,  but  a  duty  to  answer 
them,  for  the  poor  fellow  was  forlorn,  and  needed  pet¬ 
ting,  since  Jo  persisted  in  being  stony-hearted.  She 
ought  to  have  made  an  effort,  and  tried  to  love  him ;  it 
could  n’t  be  very  hard,  many  people  would  be  proud 
and  glad  to  have  such  a  dear  boy  care  for  them;  but  Jo 
never  would  act  like  other  girls,  so  there  was  nothing  to 
do  but  be  very  kind,  and  treat  him  like  a  brother. 

If  all  brothers  were  treated  as  well  as  Laurie  was  at  this 
period,  they  would  be  a  much  happier  race  of  beings  than 
they  are.  Amy  never  lectured  now;  she  asked  his 
opinion  on  all  subjects  ;  she  was  interested  in  everything 
he  did,  made  charming  little  presents  for  him,  and  sent 
him  two  letters  a  week,  full  of  lively  gossip,  sisterly  con¬ 
fidences,  and  captivating  sketches  of  the  lovely  scenes 
about  her.  As  few  brothers  are  complimented  by  having 
their  letters  carried  about  in  their  sisters’  pockets,  read 
and  reread  diligently,  cried  over  when  short,  kissed  when 
long,  and  treasured  carefully,  we  will  not  hint  that  Amy 
did  any  of  these  fond  and  foolish  things.  But  she  cer¬ 
tainly  did  grow  a  little  pale  and  pensive  that  spring,  lost 
much  of  her  relish  for  society,  and  went  out  sketching 
alone  a  good  deal.  She  never  had  much  to  show  when 
she  came  home,  but  was  studying  nature,  I  dare  say, 
while  she  sat  for  hours,  with  her  hands  folded,  on  the 
terrace  at  Valrosa,  or  absently  sketched  any  fancy  that 
occurred  to  her,  —  a  stalwart  knight  carved  on  a  tomb, 
a  young  man  asleep  in  the  grass,  with  his  hat  over  his 
eyes,  or  a  curly-haired  girl  in  gorgeous  array,  prome¬ 
nading  down  a  ball-room  on  the  arm  of  a  tall  gentleman, 
both  faces  being  left  a  blur  according  to  the  last  fashion 
in  art,  which  was  safe,  but  not  altogether  satisfactory. 

Her  aunt  thought  that  she  regretted  her  answer  to 


Little  Women 


536 

Fred;  and,  finding  denials  useless  and  explanations  im¬ 
possible,  Amy  left  her  to  think  what  she  liked,  taking 
care  that  Laurie  should  know  that  Fred  had  gone  to 
Egypt.  That  was  all,  but  he  understood  it,  and  looked 
relieved,  as  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  venerable  air, — 

“  I  was  sure  she  would  think  better  of  it.  Poor  old 
fellow  !  I ’ve  been  through  it  all,  and  I  can  sympathize.” 

With  that  he  heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  then,  as  if  he 
had  discharged  his  duty  to  the  past,  put  his  feet  up  on 
the  sofa,  and  enjoyed  Amy’s  letter  luxuriously. 

While  these  changes  were  going  on  abroad,  trouble 
had  come  at  home;  but  the  letter  telling  that  Beth  was 
failing  never  reached  Amy,  and  when  the  next  found  her, 
the  grass  was  green  above  her  sister.  The  sad  news  met 
her  at  Vevay,  for  the  heat  had  driven  them  from  Nice  in 
May,  and  they  had  travelled  slowly  to  Switzerland,  by 
way  of  Genoa  and  the  Italian  lakes.  She  bore  it  very 
well,  and  quietly  submitted  to  the  family  decree  that  she 
should  not  shorten  her  visit,  for,  since  it  was  too  late 
to  say  good-by  to  Beth,  she  had  better  stay,  and  let  ab¬ 
sence  soften  her  sorrow.  But  her  heart  was  very  heavy  ; 
she  longed  to  be  at  home,  and  every  day  looked  wist¬ 
fully  across  the  lake,  waiting  for  Laurie  to  come  and 
comfort  her. 

He  did  come  very  soon ;  for  the  same  mail  brought 
letters  to  them  both,  but  he  was  in  Germany,  and  it  took 
some  days  to  reach  him.  The  moment  he  read  it,  he 
packed  his  knapsack,  bade  adieu  to  his  fellow-pedestrians, 
and  was  off  to  keep  his  promise,  with  a  heart  full  of  joy 
and  sorrow,  hope  and  suspense. 

He  knew  Vevay  well ;  and  as  soon  as  the  boat  touched 
the  little  quay,  he  hurried  along  the  shore  to  La  Tour, 
where  the  Carrols  were  living  en pension.  Th zgar^on  was 
in  despair  that  the  whole  family  had  gone  to  take  a  prom- 


Learning  to  Forget  537 

enade  on  the  lake ;  but  no,  the  blond  mademoiselle 
might  be  in  the  chateau  garden.  If  monsieur  would 
give  himself  the  pain  of  sitting  down,  a  flash  of  time 
should  present  her.  But  monsieur  could  not  wait  even 
“  a  flash  of  time,”  and,  in  the  middle  of  the  speech, 
departed  to  find  mademoiselle  himself 

A  pleasant  old  garden  on  the  borders  of  the  lovely 
lake,  with  chestnuts  rustling  overhead,  ivy  climbing  every¬ 
where,  and  the  black  shadow  of  the  tower  falling  far 
across  the  sunny  water.  At  one  corner  of  the  wide,  low 
wall  was  a  seat,  and  here  Amy  often  came  to  read  or  work, 
or  console  herself  with  the  beauty  all  about  her.  She 
was  sitting  here  that  day,  leaning  her  head  on  her  hand, 
with  a  homesick  heart  and  heavy  eyes,  thinking  of  Beth, 
and  wondering  why  Laurie  did  not  come.  She  did  not 
hear  him  cross  the  court-yard  beyond,  nor  see  him  pause 
in  the  archway  that  led  from  the  subterranean  path  into 
the  garden.  He  stood  a  minute,  looking  at  her  with  new 
eyes,  seeing  what  no  one  had  ever  seen  before,  —  the 
tender  side  of  Amy’s  character.  Everything  about  her 
mutely  suggested  love  and  sorrow, —  the  blotted  letters 
in  her  lap,  the  black  ribbon  that  tied  up  her  hair,  the 
womanly  pain  and  patience  in  her  face ;  even  the  little 
ebony  cross  at  her  throat  seemed  pathetic  to  Laurie, 
for  he  had  given  it  to  her,  and  she  wore  it  as  her  only 
ornament.  If  he  had  any  doubts  about  the  reception 
she  would  give  him,  they  were  set  at  rest  the  minute  she 
looked  up  and  saw  him;  for,  dropping  everything,  she 
ran  to  him,  exclaiming,  in  a  tone  of  unmistakable  love 
and  longing,  — 

“  O  Laurie,  Laurie,  I  knew  you  ’d  come  to  me !  ” 

I  think  everything  was  said  and  settled  then;  for,  as 
they  stood  together  quite  silent  for  a  moment,  with  the 
dark  head  bent  down  protectingly  over  the  light  one,  Amy 


Little  Women 


538 

felt  that  no  one  could  comfort  and  sustain  her  so  well  as 
Laurie,  and  Laurie  decided  that  Amy  was  the  only  woman 
in  the  world  who  could  fill  Jo’s  place,  and  make  him 
happy.  He  did  not  tell  her  so  ;  but  she  was  not  disap¬ 
pointed,  for  both  felt  the  truth,  were  satisfied,  and  gladly 
left  the  rest  to  silence. 

In  a  minute  Amy  went  back  to  her  place;  and,  while 
she  dried  her  tears,  Laurie  gathered  up  the  scattered 
papers,  finding  in  the  sight  of  sundry  well-worn  letters 
and  suggestive  sketches  good  omens  for  the  future.  As 
he  sat  down  beside  her,  Amy  felt  shy  again,  and  turned 
rosy  red  at  the  recollection  of  her  impulsive  greeting. 

“  I  could  n’t  help  it;  I  felt  so  lonely  and  sad,  and  was 
so  very  glad  to  see  you.  It  was  such  a  surprise  to  look 
up  and  find  you,  just  as  I  was  beginning  to  fear  yon 
would  n’t  come,”  she  said,  trying  in  vain  to  speak  quite 
naturally. 

“  I  came  the  minute  I  heard.  I  wish  I  could  say  some¬ 
thing  to  comfort  you  for  the  loss  of  dear  little  Beth  ;  but 
I  can  only  feel,  and  — ”  He  could  not  get  any  further, 
for  he,  too,  turned  bashful  all  of  a  sudden,  and  did  not 
quite  know  what  to  say.  He  longed  to  lay  Amy’s  head 
down  on  his  shoulder,  and  tell  her  to  have  a  good  cry, 
but  he  did  not  dare ;  so  took  her  hand  instead,  and 
gave  it  a  sympathetic  squeeze  that  was  better  than 
words. 

“  You  need  n’t  say  anything  ;  this  comforts  me,”  she 
said  softly.  “  Beth  is  well  and  happy,  and  I  must  n’t  wish 
her  back;  but  I  dread  the  going  home,  much  as  I  long 
to  see  them  all.  We  won’t  talk  about  it  now,  for  it  makes 
me  cry,  and  I  want  to  enjoy  you  while  you  stay.  You 
need  n’t  go  right  back,  need  you?  ” 

“  Not  if  you  want  me,  dear.” 

“  I  do,  so  much.  Aunt  and  Flo  are  very  kind  ;  but  you 


Learning  to  Forget  539 

seem  like  one  of  the  family,  and  it  would  be  so  comfor¬ 
table  to  have  you  for  a  little  while.” 

Amy  spoke  and  looked  so  like  a  homesick  child,  whose 
heart  was  full,  that  Laurie  forgot  his  bashfulness  all  at 
once,  and  gave  her  just  what  she  wanted,  —  the  petting 
she  was  used  to  and  the  cheerful  conversation  she  needed. 

“  Poor  little  soul,  you  look  as  if  you  ’d  grieved  your¬ 
self  half-sick !  I  ’m  going  to  take  care  of  you,  so  don’t 
cry  any  more,  but  come  and  walk  about  with  me ;  the 
wind  is  too  chilly  for  you  to  sit  still,”  he  said,  in  the  half- 
caressing,  half-commanding  way  that  Amy  liked,  as  he 
tied  on  her  hat,  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and  began  to 
pace  up  and  down  the  sunny  walk,  under  the  new-leaved 
chestnuts.  He  felt  more  at  ease  upon  his  legs  ;  and  Amy 
found  it  very  pleasant  to  have  a  strong  arm  to  lean  upon, 
a  familiar  face  to  smile  at  her,  and  a  kind  voice  to  talk 
delightfully  for  her  alone. 

The  quaint  old  garden  had  sheltered  many  pairs  of 
lovers,  and  seemed  expressly  made  for  them,  so  sunny 
and  secluded  was  it,  with  nothing  but  the  tower  to  over¬ 
look  them,  and  the  wide  lake  to  carry  away  the  echo  of 
their  words,  as  it  rippled  by  below.  For  an  hour  thiy 
new  pair  walked  and  talked,  or  rested  on  the  wall,  enjoy¬ 
ing  the  sweet  influences  which  gave  such  a  charm  to  time 
and  place  ;  and  when  an  unromantic  dinner-bell  warned 
them  away,  Amy  felt  as  if  she  left  her  burden  of  loneli¬ 
ness  and  sorrow  behind  her  in  the  chateau  garden. 

The  moment  Mrs.  Carrol  saw  the  girl’s  altered  face, 
she  was  illuminated  with  a  new  idea,  and  exclaimed  to 
herself,  “  Now  I  understand  it  all,  —  the  child  has  been 
pining  for  young  Laurence.  Bless  my  heart,  I  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing !  ” 

With  praiseworthy  discretion,  the  good  lady  said  noth¬ 
ing,  and  betrayed  no  sign  of  enlightenment ;  but  cordially 


Little  Women 


54° 

urged  Laurie  to  stay,  and  begged  Amy  to  enjoy  his 
society,  for  it  would  do  her  more  good  than  so  much  soli¬ 
tude.  Amy  was  a  model  of  docility  ;  and,  as  her  aunt 
was  a  good  deal  occupied  with  Flo,  she  was  left  to  enter¬ 
tain  her  friend,  and  did  it  with  more  than  her  usual 
success. 

At  Nice,  Laurie  had  lounged  and  Amy  had  scolded ; 
at  Vevay,  Laurie  was  never  idle,  but  always  walking,  rid¬ 
ing,  boating,  or  studying,  in  the  most  energetic  manner, 
while  Amy  admired  everything  he  did,  and  followed  his 
example  as  far  and  as  fast  as  she  could.  He  said  the 
change  was  owing  to  the  climate,  and  she  did  not  con¬ 
tradict  him,  being  glad  of  a  like  excuse  for  her  own 
recovered  health  and  spirits. 

The  invigorating  air  did  them  both  good,  and  much 
exercise  worked  wholesome  changes  in  minds  as  well  as 
bodies.  They  seemed  to  get  clearer  views  of  life  and 
duty  up  there  among  the  everlasting  hills;  the  fresh 
winds  blew  away  desponding  doubts,  delusive  fancies, 
and  moody  mists;  the  warm  spring  sunshine  brought 
out  all  sorts  of  aspiring  ideas,  tender  hopes,  and  happy 
thoughts  ;  the  lake  seemed  to  wash  away  the  troubles  of 
the  past,  and  the  grand  old  mountains  to  look  benignly 
down  upon  them,  saying,  “  Little  children,  love  one 
another.” 

In  spite  of  the  new  sorrow,  it  was  a  very  happy  time, 
so  happy  that  Laurie  could  not  bear  to  disturb  it  by  a 
word.  It  took  him  a  little  while  to  recover  from  his 
surprise  at  the  rapid  cure  of  his  first,  and,  as  he  had 
firmly  believed,  his  last  and  only  love.  He  consoled 
himself  for  the  seeming  disloyalty  by  the  thought  that 
Jo’s  sister  was  almost  the  same  as  Jo’s  self,  and  the  con¬ 
viction  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  love  any 
other  woman  but  Amy  so  soon  and  so  well.  His  first 


Learning  to  Forget  541 

wooing  had  been  of  the  tempestuous  order,  and  he 
looked  back  upon  it  as  if  through  a  long  vista  of  years, 
with  a  feeling  of  compassion  blended  with  regret,  fie 
was  not  ashamed  of  it,  but  put  it  away  as  one  of  the 
bitter-sweet  experiences  of  his  life,  for  which  he  could 
be  grateful  when  the  pain  was  over.  His  second  wooing 
he  resolved  should  be  as  calm  and  simple  as  possible ; 
there  was  no  need  of  having  a  scene,  hardly  any  need  of 
telling  Amy  that  he  loved  her;  she  knew  it  without 
words,  and  had  given  him  his  answer  long  ago.  It  all 
came  about  so  naturally  that  no  one  could  complain, 
and  he  knew  that  everybody  would  be  pleased,  even  Jo. 
But  when  our  first  little  passion  has  been  crushed,  we 
are  apt  to  be  wary  and  slow  in  making  a  second  trial ; 
so  Laurie  let  the  days  pass,  enjoying  every  hour,  and 
leaving  to  chance  the  utterance  of  the  word  that  would 
put  an  end  to  the  first  and  sweetest  part  of  his  new 
romance. 

He  had  rather  imagined  that  the  denouement  would 
take  place  in  the  chateau  garden  by  moonlight,  and  in 
the  most  graceful  and  decorous  manner;  but  it  turned 
out  exactly  the  reverse,  for  the  matter  was  settled  on 
the  lake,  at  noon  day,  in  a  few  blunt  words.  They  had 
been  floating  about  all  the  morning,  from  gloomy  St. 
Gingolf  to  sunny  Montreux,  with  the  Alps  of  Savoy 
on  one  side,  Mont  St.  Bernard  and  the  Dent  du  Midi  on 
the  other,  pretty  Vevay  in  the  valley,  and  Lausanne 
upon  the  hill  beyond,  a  cloudless  blue  sky  overhead,  and 
the  bluer  lake  below,  dotted  with  the  picturesque  boats 
that  looked  like  white-winged  gulls. 

They  had  been  talking  of  Bonnivard,  as  they  glided 
past  Chillon,  and  of  Rousseau,  as  they  looked  up  at 
Clarens,  where  he  wrote  his  “  Heloise.”  Neither  had 
read  it,  but  they  knew  it  was  a  love-story,  and  each 


Little  Women 


542 

privately  wondered  if  it  was  half  as  interesting  as  their 
own.  Amy  had  been  dabbling  her  hand  in  the  water 
during  the  little  pause  that  fell  between  them,  and,  when 
she  looked  up,  Laurie  was  leaning  on  his  oars,  with  an 
expression  in  his  eyes  that  made  her  say  hastily,  merely 
for  the  sake  of  saying  something,— 

“You  must  be  tired;  rest  a  little,  and  let  me  row; 
it  will  do  me  good ;  for,  since  you  came,  I  have  been 
altogether  lazy  and  luxurious.” 

“  I ’m  not  tired  ;  but  you  may  take  an  oar,  if  you  like. 
There’s  room  enough,  though  I  have  to  sit  nearly  in  the 
middle,  else  the  boat  won’t  trim,”  returned  Laurie,  as  if 
he  rather  liked  the  arrangement. 

Feeling  that  she  had  not  mended  matters  much,  Amy 
took  the  offered  third  of  a  seat,  shook  her  hair  over  her 
face,  and  accepted  an  oar.  She  rowed  as  well  as  she  did 
many  other  things ;  and,  though  she  used  both  hands, 
and  Laurie  but  one,  the  oars  kept  time,  and  the  boat 
went  smoothly  through  the  water. 

“How  well  we  pull  together,  don’t  we?”  said  Amy, 
who  objected  to  silence  just  then. 

“  So  well  that  I  wish  we  might  always  pull  in  the  same 
boat.  Will  you,  Amy?”  very  tenderly. 

“Yes,  Laurie,”  very  low. 

Then  they  both  stopped  rowing,  and  unconsciously 
added  a  pretty  little  tableau  of  human  love  and  happiness 
to  the  dissolving  views  reflected  in  the  lake. 


All  Alone 


543 


CHAPTER  XLII 


ALL  ALONE 


T  was  easy  to  promise  self-abnegation  when  self  was 
wrapped  up  in  another,  and  heart  and  soul  were 
purified  by  a  sweet  example ;  but  when  the  help¬ 
ful  voice  was  silent,  the  daily  lesson  over,  the  beloved 
presence  gone,  and  nothing  remained  but  loneliness  and 
grief,  then  Jo  found  her  promise  very  hard  to  keep. 
How  could  she  “  comfort  father  and  mother,”  when  her 
own  heart  ached  with  a  ceaseless  longing  for  her  sister; 
how  could  she  “  make  the  house  cheerful,”  when  all  its 
light  and  warmth  and  beauty  seemed  to  have  deserted  it 
when  Beth  left  the  old  home  for  the  new;  and  where  in 
all  the  world  could  she  “  find  some  useful,  happy  work  to 
do,”  that  would  take  the  place  of  the  loving  service  which 
had  been  its  own  reward  ?  She  tried  in  a  blind,  hopeless 
way  to  do  her  duty,  secretly  rebelling  against  it  all  the 
while,  for  it  seemed  unjust  that  her  few  joys  should  be 
lessened,  her  burdens  made  heavier,  and  life  get  harder 
and  harder  as  she  toiled  along.  Some  people  seemed  to 
get  all  sunshine,  and  some  all  shadow ;  it  was  not  fair, 
for  she  tried  more  than  Amy  to  be  good,  but  never  got 
any  reward,  only  disappointment,  trouble,  and  hard 
work. 

Poor  Jo,  these  were  dark  days  to  her,  for  something 
like  despair  came  over  her  when  she  thought  of  spending 
all  her  life  in  that  quiet  house,  devoted  to  humdrum  cares, 
a  few  small  pleasures,  and  the  duty  that  never  seemed  to 
grow  any  easier.  “  T  can’t  do  it.  I  was  n’t  meant  for  a 
life  like  this,  and  I  know  I  shall  break  away  and  do  some¬ 
thing  desperate  if  somebody  don’t  come  and  help  me,” 


Little  Women 


.5++ 

she  said  to  herself,  when  her  first  efforts  failed,  and 
she  fell  into  the  moody,  miserable  state  of  mind  which 
often  comes  when  strong  wills  have  to  yield  to  the 
inevitable. 

But  some  one  did  come  and  help  her,  though  Jo  did 
not  recognize  her  good  angels  at  once,  because  they  wore 
familiar  shapes,  and  used  the  simple  spells  best  fitted  to 
poor  humanity.  Often  she  started  up  at  night,  thinking 
Beth  called  her;  and  when  the  sight  of  the  little  empty 
bed  made  her  cry  with  the  bitter  cry  of  an  unsubmissive 
sorrow,  “O  Beth,  come  back  !  come  back  !  ”  she  did  not 
stretch  out  her  yearning  arms  in  vain ;  for,  as  quick  to 
hear  her  sobbing  as  she  had  been  to  hear  her  sister’s 
faintest  whisper,  her  mother  came  to  comfort  her,  not 
with  words  only,  but  the  patient  tenderness  that  soothes 
by  a  touch,  tears  that  were  mute  reminders  of  a  greater 
grief  than  Jo’s,  and  broken  whispers,  more  eloquent  than 
prayers,  because  hopeful  resignation  went  hand-in-hand 
with  natural  sorrow.  Sacred  moments,  when  heart  talked 
to  heart  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  turning  affliction  to  a 
blessing,  which  chastened  grief  and  strengthened  love. 
Feeling  this,  Jo’s  burden  seemed  easier  to  bear,  duty  grew 
sweeter,  and  life  looked  more  endurable,  seen  from  the 
safe  shelter  of  her  mother’s  arms. 

When  aching  heart  was  a  little  comforted,  troubled 
mind  likewise  found  help ;  for  one  day  she  went  to  the 
study,  and,  leaning  over  the  good  gray  head  lifted  towel- 
come  her  with  a  tranquil  smile,  she  said,  very  humbly, — 

“Father,  talk  to  me  as  you  did  to  Beth.  I  need  it 
more  than  she  did,  for  I  ’m  all  wrong.” 

“  My  dear,  nothing  can  comfort  me  like  this,”  he  an¬ 
swered,  with  a  falter  in  his  voice,  and  both  arms  round  her, 
as  if  he,  too,  needed  help,  and  did  not  fear  to  ask  it. 

Then,  sitting  in  Beth’s  little  chair  close  beside  him,  Jo 


All  Alone 


545 

told  her  troubles,  —  the  resentful  sorrow  for  her  loss,  the 
fruitless  efforts  that  discouraged  her,  the  want  of  faith 
that  made  life  look  so  dark,  and  all  the  sad  bewilderment 
which  we  call  despair.  She  gave  him  entire  confidence, 
he  gave  her  the  help  she  needed,  and  both  found  conso¬ 
lation  in  the  act;  for  the  time  had  come  when  they  could 
talk  together  not  only  as  father  and  daughter,  but  as  man 
and  woman,  able  and  glad  to  serve  each  other  with  mu¬ 
tual  sympathy  as  well  as  mutual  love.  Happy,  thought¬ 
ful  times  there  in  the  old  study  which  Jo  called  “  the 
church  of  one  member,”  and  from  which  she  came  with 
fresh  courage,  recovered  cheerfulness,  and  a  more  sub¬ 
missive  spirit;  for  the  parents  who  had  taught  one  child 
to  meet  death  without  fear,  were  trying  now  to  teach  an¬ 
other  to  accept  life  without  despondency  or  distrust,  and 
to  use  its  beautiful  opportunities  with  gratitude  and 
power. 

Other  helps  had  Jo,  — humble,  wholesome  duties  and 
delights  that  would  not  be  denied  their  part  in  serving  her, 
and  which  she  slowly  learned  to  see  and  value.  Brooms 
and  dishcloths  never  could  be  as  distasteful  as  they  once 
had  been,  for  Beth  had  presided  over  both ;  and  some¬ 
thing  of  her  housewifely  spirit  seemed  to  linger  round  the 
little  mop  and  the  old  brush,  that  was  never  thrown  away. 
As  she  used  them,  Jo  found  herself  humming  the  songs 
Beth  used  to  hum,  imitating  Beth’s  orderly  ways,  and  giv¬ 
ing  the  little  touches  here  and  there  that  kept  everything 
fresh  and  cosey,  which  was  the  first  step  toward  making 
home  happy,  though  she  did  n’t  know  it,  till  Hannah  said 
with  an  approving  squeeze  of  the  hand,  — 

“You  thoughtful  creter,  you’re  determined  we  sha’n’t 
miss  that  dear  lamb  ef  you  can  help  it.  We  don’t  say 
much,  but  we  see  it,  and  the  Lord  will  bless  you  for  ’t, 
see  ef  He  don’t.” 


35 


Little  Women 


546 

As  they  sat  sewing  together,  Jo  discovered  how  much 
improved  her  sister  Meg  was;  how  well  she  could  talk, 
how  much  she  knew  about  good,  womanly  impulses, 
thoughts,  and  feelings,  how  happy  she  was  in  husband 
and  children,  and  how  much  they  were  all  doing  for 
each  other. 

“  Marriage  is  an  excellent  thing,  after  all.  I  wonder  if 
I  should  blossom  out  half  as  well  as  you  have,  if  I  tried 
it?  ”  said  Jo,  as  she  constructed  a  kite  for  Demi,  in  the 
topsy-turvy  nursery. 

“It’s  just  what  you  need  to  bring  out  the  tender, 
womanly  half  of  your  nature,  Jo.  You  are  like  a  chest¬ 
nut-burr,  prickly  outside,  but  silky-soft  within,  and  a 
sweet  kernel,  if  one  can  only  get  at  it.  Love  will  make 
you  show  your  heart  some  day,  and  then  the  rough  burr 
will  fall  off.” 

“Frost  opens  chestnut-burrs,  ma’am,  and  it  takes  a 
good  shake  to  bring  them  down.  Boys  go  nutting,  and 
I  don’t  care  to  be  bagged  by  them,”  returned  Jo,  pasting 
away  at  the  kite  which  no  wind  that  blows  would  ever 
carry  up,  for  Daisy  had  tied  herself  on  as  a  bob. 

Meg  laughed,  for  she  was  glad  to  see  a  glimmer  of  Jo’s 
old  spirit,  but  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  enforce  her  opinion 
by  every  argument  in  her  power ;  and  the  sisterly  chats 
were  not  wasted,  especially  as  two  of  Meg’s  most  effective 
arguments  were  the  babies,  whom  Jo  loved  tenderly. 
Grief  is  the  best  opener  for  some  hearts,  and  Jo’s  was 
nearly  ready  for  the  bag:  a  little  more  sunshine  to  ripen 
the  nut,  then,  not  a  boy’s  impatient  shake,  but  a  man’s 
hand  reached  up  to  pick  it  gently  from  the  burr,  and  find 
the  kernel  sound  and  sweet.  If  she  had  suspected  this, 
she  would  have  shut  up  tight,  and  been  more  prickly  than 
ever;  fortunately  she  wasn’t  thinking  about  herself,  sof 
when  the  time  came,  down  she  dropped. 


All  Alone 


547 

Now,  if  she  had  been  the  heroine  of  a  moral  story-book, 
she  ought  at  this  period  of  her  life  to  have  become  quite 
saintly,  renounced  the  world,  and  gone  about  doing  good 
in  a  mortified  bonnet,  with  tracts  in  her  pocket.  But,  you 
see,  Jo  was  n’t  a  heroine;  she  was  only  a  struggling  hu¬ 
man  girl,  like  hundreds  of  others,  and  she  just  acted  out 
her  nature,  being  sad,  cross,  listless,  or  energetic,  as  the 
mood  suggested.  It ’s  highly  virtuous  to  say  we  ’ll  be 
good,  but  we  can’t  do  it  all  at  once,  and  it  takes  a  long 
pull,  a  strong  pull,  and  a  pull  all  together,  before  some 
of  us  even  get  our  feet  set  in  the  right  way.  Jo  had  got 
so  far,  she  was  learning  to  do  her  duty,  and  to  feel  un¬ 
happy  if  she  did  not;  but  to  do  it  cheerfully — ah,  that 
was  another  thing  !  She  had  often  said  she  wanted  to  do 
something  splendid,  no  matter  how  hard;  and  now  she 
had  her  wish,  for  what  could  be  more  beautiful  than  to 
devote  her  life  to  father  and  mother,  trying  to  make  home 
as  happy  to  them  as  they  had  to  her?  And,  if  difficulties 
were  necessary  to  increase  the  splendor  of  the  effort, 
what  could  be  harder  for  a  restless,  ambitious  girl  than 
to  give  up  her  own  hopes,  plans,  and  desires,  and  cheer¬ 
fully  live  for  others? 

Providence  had  taken  her  at  her  word ;  here  was  the 
task,  not  what  she  had  expected,  but  better,  because  self 
had  no  part  in  it:  now,  could  she  do  it?  She  decided 
that  she  would  try;  and,  in  her  first  attempt,  she  found 
the  helps  I  have  suggested.  Still  another  was  given  her, 
and  she  took  it,  not  as  a  reward,  but  as  a  comfort,  as 
Christian  took  the  refreshment  afforded  by  the  little 
arbor  where  he  rested,  as  he  climbed  the  hill  called 
Difficulty. 

“  Why  don’t  you  write  ?  That  always  used  to  make  you 
happy,”  said  her  mother,  once,  when  the  desponding  fit 
overshadowed  Jo. 


548  Little  Women 

“  I ’ve  no  heart  to  write,  and  if  I  had,  nobody  cares 
for  my  things.” 

“  We  do ;  write  something  for  us,  and  never  mind  the 
rest  of  the  world.  Try  it,  dear;  I ’m  sure  it  would  do 
you  good,  and  please  us  very  much.” 

“  Don’t  believe  I  can ;  ”  but  Jo  got  out  her  desk,  and 
began  to  overhaul  her  half-finished  manuscripts. 

An  hour  afterward  her  mother  peeped  in,  and  there  she 
was,  scratching  away,  with  her  black  pinafore  on,  and  an 
absorbed  expression,  which  caused  Mrs.  March  to  smile, 
and  slip  away,  well  pleased  with  the  success  of  her  sugges¬ 
tion.  Jo  never  knew  how  it  happened,  but  something  got 
into  that  story  that  went  straight  to  the  hearts  of  those 
who  read  it;  for,  when  her  family  had  laughed  and  cried 
over  it,  her  father  sent  it,  much  against  her  will,  to  one 
of  the  popular  magazines,  and,  to  her  utter  surprise,  it 
was  not  only  paid  for,  but  others  requested.  Letters 
from  several  persons,  whose  praise  was  honor,  followed 
the  appearance  of  the  little  story,  newspapers  copied 
it,  and  strangers  as  well  as  friends  admired  it.  For  a 
small  thing  it  was  a  great  success;  and  Jo  was  more 
astonished  than  when  her  novel  was  commended  and 
condemned  all  at  once. 

“  I  don’t  understand  it.  What  can  there  be  in  a  sim¬ 
ple  little  story  like  that,  to  make  people  praise  it  so?” 
she  said,  quite  bewildered. 

“  There  is  truth  in  it,  Jo,  that’s  the  secret;  humor  and 
pathos  make  it  alive,  and  you  have  found  your  style  at 
last.  You  wrote  with  no  thought  of  fame  or  money,  and 
put  your  heart  into  it,  my  daughter;  you  have  had  the 
bitter,  now  comes  the  sweet.  Do  your  best,  and  grow 
as  happy  as  we  are  in  your  success.  ” 

“  If  there  is  anything  good  or  true  in  what  I  write,  it 
is  n’t  mine ;  I  owe  it  all  to  you  and  mother  and  to  Beth,” 


All  Alone 


549 

said  Jo,  more  touched  by  her  father’s  words  than  by  any 
amount  of  praise  from  the  world. 

So,  taught  by  love  and  sorrow,  Jo  wrote  her  little 
stories,  and  sent  them  away  to  make  friends  for  them¬ 
selves  and  her,  finding  it  a  very  charitable  world  to  such 
humble  wanderers ;  for  they  were  kindly  welcomed,  and 
sent  home  comfortable  tokens  to  their  mother,  like  duti¬ 
ful  children  whom  good  fortune  overtakes. 

When  Amy  and  Laurie  wrote  of  their  engagement, 
Mrs.  March  feared  that  Jo  would  find  it  difficult  to  rejoice 
over  it,  but  her  fears  were  soon  set  at  rest;  for,  though 
Jo  looked  grave  at  first,  she  took  it  very  quietly,  and 
was  full  of  hopes  and  plans  for  “  the  children  ”  before 
she  read  the  letter  twice.  It  was  a  sort  of  written  duet, 
wherein  each  glorified  the  other  in  lover-like  fashion, 
very  pleasant  to  read  and  satisfactory  to  think  of,  for  no 
one  had  any  objection  to  make. 

“You  like  it,  mother?”  said  Jo,  as  they  laid  down  the 
closely  written  sheets,  and  looked  at  one  another. 

“Yes,  I  hoped  it  would  be  so,  ever  since  Amy  wrote 
that  she  had  refused  Fred.  I  felt  sure  then  that  some¬ 
thing  better  than  what  you  call  the  ‘  mercenary  spirit’ 
had  come  over  her,  and  a  hint  here  and  there  in  her  let¬ 
ters  made  me  suspect  that  love  and  Laurie  would  win 
the  day.  ” 

“  How  sharp  you  are,  Marmee,  and  how  silent ! 
You  never  said  a  word  to  me.” 

“  Mothers  have  need  of  sharp  eyes  and  discreet 
tongues  when  they  have  girls  to  manage.  I  was  half 
afraid  to  put  the  idea  into  your  head,  lest  you  should 
write  and  congratulate  them  before  the  thing  was 
settled.” 

“  I ’m  not  the  scatter-brain  I  was;  you  may  trust  me, 
I ’m  sober  and  sensible  enough  for  any  one’s  confidante 

i 

now.” 


Little  Women 


55° 

“  So  you  are,  dear,  and  I  should  have  made  you 
mine,  only  I  fancied  it  might  pain  you  to  learn  that 
your  Teddy  loved  any  one  else.” 

“  Now,  mother,  did  you  really  think  I  could  be  so 
silly  and  selfish,  after  I ’d  refused  his  love,  when  it  was 
freshest,  if  not  best  ?  ” 

“  I  knew  you  were  sincere  then,  Jo,  but  lately  I  have 
thought  that  if  he  came  back,  and  asked  again,  you 
might,  perhaps,  feel  like  giving  another  answer.  For¬ 
give  me,  dear,  I  can’t  help  seeing  that  you  are  very 
lonely,  and  sometimes  there  is  a  hungry  look  in  your 
eyes  that  goes  to  my  heart;  so  I  fancied  that  your  boy 
might  fill  the  empty  place  if  he  tried  now.” 

“No,  mother,  it  is  better  as  it  is,  and  I ’m  glad  Amy 
has  learned  to  love  him.  But  you  are  right  in  one 
thing:  I  am  lonely,  and  perhaps  if  Teddy  had  tried 
again,  I  might  have  said  ‘  Yes,’  not  because  I  love  him 
any  more,  but  because  I  care  more  to  be  loved  than 
when  he  went  away.” 

“  I  ’m  glad  of  that,  Jo,  for  it  shows  that  you  are  get¬ 
ting  on.  There  are  plenty  to  love  you,  so  try  to  be 
satisfied  with  father  and  mother,  sisters  and  brothers, 
friends  and  babies,  till  the  best  lover  of  all  comes  to 
give  you  your  reward.” 

“  Mothers  are  the  best  lovers  in  the  world ;  but  I 
don’t  mind  whispering  to  Marmee  that  I ’d  like  to  try 
all  kinds.  It ’s  very  curious,  but  the  more  I  try  to 
satisfy  myself  with  all  sorts  of  natural  affections,  the 
more  I  seem  to  want.  I ’d  no  idea  hearts  could  take 
in  so  many;  mine  is  so  elastic,  it  never  seems  full  now, 
and  I  used  to  be  quite  contented  with  my  family.  I 
don’t  understand  it.” 

“I  do ;  ”  and  Mrs.  March  smiled  her  wise  smile,  as  Jo 
turned  back  the  leaves  to  read  what  Amy  said  of  Laurie, 


All  Alone 


5  5 1 

“It  is  so  beautiful  to  be  loved  as  Laurie  loves  me; 
he  is  n’t  sentimental,  does  n’t  say  much  about  it,  but  I 
see  and  feel  it  in  all  he  says  and  does,  and  it  makes  me 
so  happy  and  so  humble  that  I  don’t  seem  to  be  the 
same  girl  I  was.  I  never  knew  how  good  and  generous 
and  tender  he  was  till  now,  for  he  lets  me  read  his 
heart,  and  I  find  it  full  of  noble  impulses  and  hopes 
and  purposes,  and  am  so  proud  to  know  it ’s  mine. 
He  says  he  feels  as  if  he  ‘  could  make  a  prosperous 
voyage  now  with  me  aboard  as  mate,  and  lots  of  love 
for  ballast.’  I  pray  he  may,  and  try  to  be  all  he 
believes  me,  for  I  love  my  gallant  captain  with  all  my 
heart  and  soul  and  might,  and  never  will  desert  him, 
while  God  lets  us  be  together.  O  mother,  I  never 
knew  how  much  like  heaven  this  world  could  be, 
when  twro  people  love  and  live  for  one  another !  ” 

“  And  that ’s  our  cool,  reserved,  and  worldly  Amy  ! 
Truly,  love  does  work  miracles.  How  very,  very 
happy  they  must  be !  ”  And  Jo  laid  the  rustling 
sheets  together  with  a  careful  hand,  as  one  might 
shut  the  covers  of  a  lovely  romance,  which  holds  the 
reader  fast  till  the  end  comes,  and  he  finds  himself 
alone  in  the  work-a-day  world  again. 

By  and  by  Jo  roamed  away  upstairs,  for  it  was  rainy, 
and  she  could  not  walk.  A  restless  spirit  possessed  her, 
and  the  old  feeling  came  again,  not  bitter  as  it  once 
was,  but  a  sorrowfully  patient  wonder  why  one  sister 
should  have  all  she  asked,  the  other  nothing.  It  was 
not  true ;  she  knew  that,  and  tried  to  put  it  away,  but 
the  natural  craving  for  affection  was  strong,  and  Amy’s 
happiness  woke  the  hungry  longing  for  some  one  to 
“  love  with  heart  and  soul,  and  cling  to  while  God  let 
them  be  together.” 

Up  in  the  garret,  where  Jo’s  unquiet  wanderings 


Little  Women 


55  2 

ended,  stood  four  little  wooden  chests  in  a  row,  each 
marked  with  its  owner’s  name,  and  each  filled  with 
relics  of  the  childhood  and  girlhood  ended  now  for  all. 
Jo  glanced  into  them,  and  when  she  came  to  her  own, 
leaned  her  chin  on  the  edge,  and  stared  absently  at  the 
chaotic  collection,  till  a  bundle  of  old  exercise-books 
caught  her  eye.  She  drew  them  out,  turned  them  over, 
and  re-lived  that  pleasant  winter  at  kind  Mrs.  Kirke’s. 
She  had  smiled  at  first,  then  she  looked  thoughtful, 
next  sad,  and  when  she  came  to  a  little  message  writ¬ 
ten  in  the  Professor’s  hand,  her  lips  began  to  tremble, 
the  books  slid  out  of  her  lap,  and  she  sat  looking  at 
the  friendly  words,  as  if  they  took  a  new  meaning,  and 
touched  a  tender  spot  in  her  heart. 

“  Wait  for  me,  my  friend.  I  may  be  a  little  late,  but 
I  shall  surely  come.” 

“  Oh,  if  he  only  would  !  So  kind,  so  good,  so  patient 
with  me  always;  my  dear  old  Fritz,  I  didn’t  value  him 
half  enough  when  I  had  him,  but  now  how  I  should  love 
to  see  him,  for  every  one  seems  going  away  from  me, 
and  I ’m  all  alone.” 

And  holding  the  little  paper  fast,  as  if  it  were  a 
promise  yet  to  be  fulfilled,  Jo  laid  her  head  down  on  a 
comfortable  rag-bag,  and  cried,  as  if  in  opposition  to 
the  rain  pattering  on  the  roof. 

Was  it  all  self-pity,  loneliness,  or  low  spirits  ?  or  was 
it  the  waking  up  of  a  sentiment  which  had  bided  its 
time  as  patiently  as  its  inspirer  ?  Who  shall  say  ? 


Surprises 


553 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

SURPRISES 

JO  was  alone  in  the  twilight,  lying  on  the  old  sofa, 
looking  at  the  fire,  and  thinking.  It  was  her  fav¬ 
orite  way  of  spending  the  hour  of  dusk ;  no  one 
disturbed  her,  and  she  used  to  lie  there  on  Beth’s  little 
red  pillow,  planning  stories,  dreaming  dreams,  or  think¬ 
ing  tender  thoughts  of  the  sister  who  never  seemed  far 
away.  Her  face  looked  tired,  grave,  and  rather  sad; 
for  to-morrow  was  her  birthday,  and  she  was  thinking 
how  fast  the  years  went  by,  how  old  she  was  getting, 
and  how  little  she  seemed  to  have  accomplished.  Al¬ 
most  twenty-five,  and  nothing  to  show  for  it.  Jo  was 
mistaken  in  that;  there  was  a  good  deal  to  show,  and 
by  and  by  she  saw,  and  was  grateful  for  it. 

“  An  old  maid,  that ’s  what  I ’m  to  be.  A  literary 
spinster,  with  a  pen  for  a  spouse,  a  family  of  stories  for 
children,  and  twenty  years  hence  a  morsel  of  fame,  per¬ 
haps ;  when,  like  poor  Johnson,  I’m  old,  and  can’t  en¬ 
joy  it,  solitary,  and  can’t  share  it,  independent,  and  don’t 
need  it.  Well,  I  need  n’t  be  a  sour  saint  nor  a  selfish 
sinner;  and,  I  dare  say,  old  maids  are  very  comfortable 
when  they  get  used  to  it;  but  —  ”  and  there  Jo  sighed, 
as  if  the  prospect  was  not  inviting. 

It  seldom  is,  at  first,  and  thirty  seems  the  end  of  all 
things  to  five-and-twenty ;  but  it’s  not  so  bad  as  it 
looks,  and  one  can  get  on  quite  happily  if  one  has 
something  in  one’s  self  to  fall  back  upon.  At  twenty- 
five,  girls  begin  to  talk  about  being  old  maids,  but  se¬ 
cretly  resolve  that  they  never  will  be ;  at  thirty  they  say 
nothing  about  it,  but  quietly  accept  the  fact,  and,  if  sen- 


Little  Women 


554 

sible,  console  themselves  by  remembering  that  they  have 
twenty  more  useful,  happy  years,  in  which  they  may  be 
learning  to  grow  old  gracefully.  Don’t  laugh  at  the 
spinsters,  dear  girls,  for  often  very  tender,  tragical  ro¬ 
mances  are  hidden  away  in  the  hearts  that  beat  so 
quietly  under  the  sober  gowns,  and  many  silent  sacri¬ 
fices  of  youth,  health,  ambition,  love  itself,  make  the 
faded  faces  beautiful  in  God’s  sight.  Even  the  sad,  sour 
sisters  should  be  kindly  dealt  with,  because  they  have 
missed  the  sweetest  part  of  life,  if  for  no  other  reason; 
and,  looking  at  them  with  compassion,  not  contempt, 
girls  in  their  bloom  should  remember  that  they  too  may 
miss  the  blossom  time ;  that  rosy  cheeks  don’t  last  for¬ 
ever,  that  silver  threads  will  come  in  the  bonnie  brown 
hair,  and  that,  by  and  by,  kindness  and  respect  will  be 
as  sweet  as  love  and  admiration  now. 

Gentlemen,  which  means  boys,  be  courteous  to  the  old 
maids,  no  matter  how  poor  and  plain  and  prim,  for  the 
only  chivalry  worth  having  is  that  which  is  the  readiest 
to  pay  deference  to  the  old,  protect  the  feeble,  and  serve 
womankind,  regardless  of  rank,  age,  or  color.  Just  rec¬ 
ollect  the  good  aunts  who  have  not  only  lectured  and 
fussed,  but  nursed  and  petted,  too  often  without  thanks ; 
the  scrapes  they  have  helped  you  out  of,  the  “  tips  ” 
they  have  given  you  from  their  small  store,  the  stitches 
the  patient  old  fingers  have  set  for  you,  the  steps  the 
willing  old  feet  have  taken,  and  gratefully  pay  the  dear 
old  ladies  the  little  attentions  that  women  love  to  receive 
as  long  as  they  live.  The  bright-eyed  girls  are  quick  to 
see  such  traits,  and  will  like  you  all  the  better  for  them ; 
and  if  death,  almost  the  only  power  that  can  part  mother 
and  son,  should  rob  you  of  yours,  you  will  be  sure  to 
find  a  tender  welcome  and  maternal  cherishing  from 
some  Aunt  Priscilla,  who  has  kept  the  warmest  corner 


Surprises  555 

of  her  lonely  old  heart  for  “  the  best  nevvy  in  the 
world.” 

Jo  must  have  fallen  asleep  (as  I  dare  say  my  reader 
has  during  this  little  homily),  for  suddenly  Laurie’s  ghost 
seemed  to  stand  before  her,  —  a  substantial,  lifelike 
ghost,  —  leaning  over  her,  with  the  very  look  he  used  to 
wear  when  he  felt  a  good  deal  and  did  n’t  like  to  show 
it.  But,  like  Jenny  in  the  ballad,  — 

“  She  could  not  think  it  he,” 

and  lay  staring  up  at  him  in  startled  silence,  till  he 
stooped  and  kissed  her.  Then  she  knew  him,  and  flew 
up,  crying  joyfully,  — 

“  O  my  Teddy  !  O  my  Teddy  !  ” 

“  Dear  Jo,  you  are  glad  to  see  me,  then?  ” 

“  Glad  !  My  blessed  boy,  words  can’t  express  my 
gladness.  Where ’s  Amy?  ” 

“Your  mother  has  got  her  down  at  Meg’s.  We 
stopped  there  by  the  way,  and  there  was  no  getting 
my  wife  out  of  their  clutches.” 

“Your  what?”  cried  Jo,  for  Laurie  uttered  those  two 
words  with  an  unconscious  pride  and  satisfaction  which 
betrayed  him. 

“  Oh,  the  dickens  !  now  I ’ve  done  it;  ”  and  he  looked 
so  guilty  that  Jo  was  down  upon  him  like  a  flash. 

“  You ’ve  gone  and  got  married  ! 

“Yes,  please,  but  I  never  will  again;  ”  and  he  went 
down  upon  his  knees,  with  a  penitent  clasping  of  hands, 
and  a  face  full  of  mischief,  mirth,  and  triumph. 

“  Actually  married  ?  ” 

“Very  much  so,  thank  you.” 

“  Mercy  on  us  !  What  dreadful  thing  will  you  do 
next?”  and  Jo  fell  into  her  seat,  with  a  gasp. 

“A  characteristic,  but  not  exactly  complimentary, 


Little  Women 


556 

congratulation,”  returned  Laurie,  still  in  an  abject  atti¬ 
tude,  but  beaming  with  satisfaction. 

“  What  can  you  expect,  when  you  take  one’s  breath 
away,  creeping  in  like  a  burglar,  and  letting  cats  out  of 
bags  like  that?  Get  up,  you  ridiculous  boy,  and  tell  me 
all  about  it.” 

“  Not  a  word,  unless  you  let  me  come  in  my  old  place, 
and  promise  not  to  barricade.” 

Jo  laughed  at  that  as  she  had  not  done  for  many  a 
long  day,  and  patted  the  sofa  invitingly,  as  she  said,  in  a 
cordial  tone,  — 

“  The  old  pillow  is  up  garret,  and  we  don’t  need  it 
now;  so,  come  and  ’fess,  Teddy.” 

“  How  good  it  sounds  to  hear  you  say  ‘  Teddy  ’ ! 
No  one  ever  calls  me  that  but  you;  ”  and  Laurie  sat 
down,  with  an  air  of  great  content. 

“  What  does  Amy  call  you?  ” 

“  My  lord.” 

“  That’s  like  her.  Well,  you  look  it;  ”  and  Jo’s  eyes 
plainly  betrayed  that  she  found  her  boy  comelier  than 
ever. 

The  pillow  was  gone,  but  there  was  a  barricade, 
nevertheless,  —  a  natural  one,  raised  by  time,  absence, 
and  change  of  heart.  Both  felt  it,  and  for  a  minute 
looked  at  one  another  as  if  that  invisible  barrier  cast  a 
little  shadow  over  them.  It  was  gone  directly,  however, 
for  Laurie  said,  with  a  vain  attempt  at  dignity, — 

“  Don’t  I  look  like  a  married  man  and  the  head  of  a 
family?  ” 

“Not  a  bit,  and  you  never  will.  You ’ve  grown  bigger 
and  bonnier,  but  you  are  the  same  scapegrace  as  ever.” 

“  Now,  really,  Jo,  you  ought  to  treat  me  with  more 
respect,”  began  Laurie,  who  enjoyed  it  all  immensely. 

“  How  can  I,  when  the  mere  idea  of  you,  married  and 


Surprises  557 

settled,  is  so  irresistibly  funny  that  I  can’t  keep  sober!  ” 
answered  Jo,  smiling  all  over  her  face,  so  infectiously 
that  they  had  another  laugh,  and  then  settled  down  for  a 
good  talk,  quite  in  the  pleasant  old  fashion. 

“  It ’s  no  use  your  going  out  in  the  cold  to  get  Amy, 
for  they  are  all  coming  up  presently.  I  could  n’t  wait; 
I  wanted  to  be  the  one  to  tell  you  the  grand  surprise, 
and  have  ‘  first  skim,’  as  we  used  to  say  when  we 
squabbled  about  the  cream.” 

“  Of  course  you  did,  and  spoilt  your  story  by  begin¬ 
ning  at  the  wrong  end.  Now,  start  right,  and  tell  me 
how  it  all  happened  ;  I  ’m  pining  to  know.” 

“  Well,  I  did  it  to  please  Amy,”  began  Laurie,  with  a 
twinkle  that  made  Jo  exclaim,  — 

“  Fib  number  one  ;  Amy  did  it  to  please  you.  Go  on, 
and  tell  the  truth,  if  you  can,  sir.” 

“  Now  she ’s  beginning  to  marm  it;  is  n’t  it  jolly  to 
hear  her?  ”  said  Laurie  to  the  fire,  and  the  fire  glowed 
and  sparkled  as  if  it  quite  agreed.  “  It’s  all  the  same, 
you  know,  she  and  I  being  one.  We  planned  to  come 
home  with  the  Carrols,  a  month  or  more  ago,  but  they 
suddenly  changed  their  minds,  and  decided  to  pass  an¬ 
other  winter  in  Paris.  But  grandpa  wanted  to  come 
home  ;  he  went  to  please  me,  and  I  could  n’t  let  him  go 
alone,  neither  could  I  leave  Amy;  and  Mrs.  Carrol  had 
got  English  notions  about  chaperons  and  such  nonsense, 
and  would  n’t  let  Amy  come  with  us.  So  I  just  settled 
the  difficulty  by  saying,  ‘  Let ’s  be  married,  and  then  we 
can  do  as  we  like.’  ” 

“  Of  course  you  did  ;  you  always  have  things  to  suit 
you.” 

“  Not  always ;  ”  and  something  in  Laurie’s  voice  made 
Jo  say  hastily,  — 

“  How  did  you  ever  get  aunt  to  agree?  ” 


1 


Little  Women 


558 

“It  was  hard  work;  but,  between  us,  we  talked  her 
over,  for  we  had  heaps  of  good  reasons  on  our  side. 
There  was  n’t  time  to  write  and  ask  leave,  but  you  all 
liked  it,  had  consented  to  it  by  and  by,  and  it  was  only 
1  taking  Time  by  the  fetlock,’  as  my  wife  says.” 

“  Are  n’t  we  proud  of  those  two  words,  and  don’t  we 
like  to  say  them?  ”  interrupted  Jo,  addressing  the  fire  in 
her  turn,  and  watching  with  delight  the  happy  light  it 
seemed  to  kindle  in  the  eyes  that  had  been  so  tragically 
gloomy  when  she  saw  them  last. 

“A  trifle,  perhaps;  she’s  such  a  captivating  little 
woman  I  can’t  help  being  proud  of  her.  Well,  then, 
uncle  and  aunt  were  there  to  play  propriety ;  we  were 
so  absorbed  in  one  another  we  were  of  no  mortal  use 
apart,  and  that  charming  arrangement  would  make  every¬ 
thing  easy  all  round ;  so  we  did  it.” 

“  When,  where,  how?  ”  asked  Jo,  in  a  fever  of  feminine 
interest  and  curiosity,  for  she  could  not  realize  it  a 
particle. 

“  Six  weeks  ago,  at  the  American  consul’s,  in  Paris ; 
a  very  quiet  wedding,  of  course,  for  even  in  our  happi¬ 
ness  we  did  n’t  forget  dear  little  Beth.” 

Jo  put  her  hand  in  his  as  he  said  that,  and  Laurie 
gently  smoothed  the  little  red  pillow,  which  he  remem¬ 
bered  well. 

“Why  didn’t  you  let  us  know  afterward  ?  asked 
Jo,  in  a  quieter  tone,  when  they  had  sat  quite  still  a 
minute. 

“We  wanted  to  surprise  you;  we  thought  we  were 
coming  directly  home,  at  first;  but  the  dear  old  gentle¬ 
man,  as  soon  as  we  were  married,  found  he  could  n’t  be 
ready  under  a  month,  at  least,  and  sent  us  off  to  spend 
our  honeymoon  wherever  we  liked.  Amy  had  once 
called  Valrosa  a  regular  honeymoon  home,  so  we  went 


Surprises  559 

there,  and  were  as  happy  as  people  are  but  once  in  their 
lives.  My  faith  !  was  n’t  it  love  among  the  roses  !  ” 

Laurie  seemed  to  forget  Jo  for  a  minute,  and  Jo  was 
glad  of  it;  for  the  fact  that  he  told  her  these  things  so 
freely  and  naturally  assured  her  that  he  had  quite  for¬ 
given  and  forgotten.  She  tried  to  draw  away  her  hand  ; 
but,  as  if  he  guessed  the  thought  that  prompted  the  half¬ 
involuntary  impulse,  Laurie  held  it  fast,  and  said,  with 
a  manly  gravity  she  had  never  seen  in  him  before, — 

“  Jo,  dear,  I  want  to  say  one  thing,  and  then  we  ’ll 
put  it  by  forever.  As  I  told  you  in  my  letter,  when  I 
wrote  that  Amy  had  been  so  kind  to  me,  I  never  shall 
stop  loving  you ;  but  the  love  is  altered,  and  I  have 
learned  to  see  that  it  is  better  as  it  is.  Amy  and  you 
change  places  in  my  heart,  that ’s  all.  I  think  it  was 
meant  to  be  so,  and  would  have  come  about  naturally, 
if  I  had  waited,  as  you  tried  to  make  me ;  but  I  never 
could  be  patient,  and  so  I  got  a  heartache.  I  was  a 
boy  then,  headstrong  and  violent ;  and  it  took  a  hard 
lesson  to  show  me  my  mistake.  For  it  was  one,  Jo,  as 
you  said,  and  I  found  it  out,  after  making  a  fool  of  my¬ 
self.  Upon  my  word,  I  was  so  tumbled  up  in  my  mind, 
at  one  time,  that  I  did  n’t  know  which  I  loved  best,  you 
or  Amy,  and  tried  to  love  both  alike;  but  I  couldn’t, 
and  when  I  saw  her  in  Switzerland,  everything  seemed 
to  clear  up  all  at  once.  You  both  got  into  your  right 
places,  and  I  felt  sure  that  it  was  well  off  with  the  old 
love  before  it  was  on  with  the  new ;  that  I  could  honestly 
share  my  heart  between  sister  Jo  and  wife  Amy,  and 
love  them  both  dearly.  Will  you  believe  it,  and  go 
back  to  the  happy  old  times  when  we  first  knew  one 
another?  ” 

“I’ll  believe  it,  with  all  my  heart;  but,  Teddy,  we 
never  can  be  boy  and  girl  again  :  the  happy  old  times 


Little  Women 


5  6o 

can’t  come  back,  and  we  mustn’t  expect  it.  We  are 
man  and  woman  now,  with  sober  work  to  do,  for  play¬ 
time  is  over,  and  we  must  give  up  frolicking.  I ’m  sure 
you  feel  this ;  I  see  the  change  in  you,  and  you  ’ll  find 
it  in  me.  I  shall  miss  my  boy,  but  I  shall  love  the  man 
as  much,  and  admire  him  more,  because  he  means  to  be 
what  I  hoped  he  would.  We  can’t  be  little  playmates 
any  longer,  but  we  will  be  brother  and  sister,  to  love  and 
help  one  another  all  our  lives,  won’t  we,  Laurie?  ” 

He  did  not  say  a  word,  but  took  the  hand  she  offered 
him,  and  laid  his  face  down  on  it  for  a  minute,  feeling 
that  out  of  the  grave  of  a  boyish  passion,  there  had 
risen  a  beautiful,  strong  friendship  to  bless  them  both. 
Presently  Jo  said  cheerfully,  for  she  didn’t  want  the 
coming  home  to  be  a  sad  one,  — 

“  I  can’t  make  it  true  that  you  children  are  really 
married,  and  going  to  set  up  housekeeping.  Why,  it 
seems  only  yesterday  that  I  was  buttoning  Amy’s  pina¬ 
fore,  and  pulling  your  hair  when  you  teased.  Mercy 
me,  how  time  does  fly  !  ” 

“  As  one  of  the  children  is  older  than  yourself,  you 
need  n’t  talk  so  like  a  grandma.  I  flatter  myself  I  ’m  a 
‘  gentleman  growed,’  as  Peggotty  said  of  David  ;  and 
when  you  see  Amy,  you  ’ll  find  her  rather  a  precocious 
infant,”  said  Laurie,  looking  amused  at  her  maternal  air. 

“  You  may  be  a  little  older  in  years,  but  I ’m  ever  so 
much  older  in  feeling,  Teddy.  Women  always  are; 
and  this  last  year  has  been  such  a  hard  one  that  I 
feel  forty.” 

“Poor  Jo!  we  left  you  to  bear  it  alone,  while  we 
went  pleasuring.  You  are  older;  here’s  a  line,  and 
there’s  another;  unless  you  smile,  your  eyes  look  sad, 
and  when  I  touched  the  cushion,  just  now,  I  found  a 
tear  on  it.  You ’ve  had  a  great  deal  to  bear,  and  had  to 


Surprises  561 

bear  it  all  alone.  What  a  selfish  beast  I ’ve  been  !  ”  and 
Laurie  pulled  his  own  hair,  with  a  remorseful  look. 

But  Jo  only  turned  over  the  traitorous  pillow,  and 
answered,  in  a  tone  which  she  tried  to  make  quite 
cheerful,  — 

“No,  I  had  father  and  mother  to  help  me,  the  dear 
babies  to  comfort  me,  and  the  thought  that  you  and 
Amy  were  safe  and  happy,  to  make  the  troubles  here 
easier  to  bear.  *1  am  lonely,  sometimes,  but  I  dare  say 
it ’s  good  for  me,  and  —  ” 

“  You  never  shall  be  again,”  broke  in  Laurie,  putting 
his  arm  about  her,  as  if  to  fence  out  every  human  ill. 
“  Amy  and  I  can’t  get  on  without  you,  so  you  must 
come  and  teach  ‘  the  children  ’  to  keep  house,  and  go 
halves  in  everything,  just  as  we  used  to  do,  and  let 
us  pet  you,  and  all  be  blissfully  happy  and  friendly 
together.” 

“  If  I  should  n’t  be  in  the  way,  it  would  be  very 
pleasant.  I  begin  to  feel  quite  young  already ;  for, 
somehow,  all  my  troubles  seemed  to  fly  away  when  you 
came.  You  always  were  a  comfort,  Teddy;”  and  Jo 
leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  just  as  she  did  years 
ago,  when  Beth  lay  ill,  and  Laurie  told  her  to  hold  on 
to  him. 

He  looked  down  at  her,  wondering  if  she  remembered 
the  time,  but  Jo  was  smiling  to  herself,  as  if,  in  truth, 
her  troubles  had  all  vanished  at  his  coming. 

“  You  are  the  same  Jo  still,  dropping  tears  about  one 
minute,  and  laughing  the  next.  You  look  a  little  wicked 
now;  what  is  it,  grandma?  ” 

“  I  was  wondering  how  you  and  Amy  get  on  together.” 

“  Like  angels  !  ” 

“Yes,  of  course,  at  first;  but  which  rules?” 

“  I  don’t  mind  telling  you  that  she  does,  now;  at  least 

36 


Little  Women 


5  62 

I  let  her  think  so,  - —  it  pleases  her,  you  know.  By  and 
by  we  shall  take  turns,  for  marriage,  they  say,  halves 
one’s  rights  and  doubles  one’s  duties.” 

“  You  ’ll  go  on  as  you  begin,  and  Amy  will  rule  you 
all  the  days  of  your  life.” 

“  Well,  she  does  it  so  imperceptibly  that  I  don’t  think 
I  shall  mind  much.  She  is  the  sort  of  woman  who 
knows  how  to  rule  well ;  in  fact,  I  rather  like  it,  for  she 
winds  one  round  her  finger  as  softly  and  prettily  as  a 
skein  of  silk,  and  makes  you  feel  as  if  she  was  doing 
you  a  favor  all  the  while.” 

“  That  ever  I  should  live  to  see  you  a  henpecked 
husband  and  enjoying  it !  ”  cried  Jo,  with  uplifted 
hands. 

It  was  good  to  see  Laurie  square  his  shoulders,  and 
smile  with  masculine  scorn  at  that  insinuation,  as  he 
replied,  with  his  “high  and  mighty”  air, — 

“  Amy  is  too  well-bred  for  that,  and  I  am  not  the  sort 
of  man  to  submit  to  it.  My  wife  and  I  respect  our¬ 
selves  and  one  another  too  much  ever  to  tyrannize  or 
quarrel.” 

Jo  liked  that,  and  thought  the  new  dignity  very  be¬ 
coming,  but  the  boy  seemed  changing  very  fast  into  the 
man,  and  regret  mingled  with  her  pleasure. 

“  I  am  sure  of  that;  Amy  and  you  never  did  quarrel 
as  we  used  to.  She  is  the  sun  and  I  the  wind,  in 
the  fable,  and  the  sun  managed  the  man  best,  you 
remember.” 

“  She  can  blow  him  up  as  well  as  shine  on  him,” 
laughed  Laurie.  “  Such  a  lecture  as  I  got  at  Nice  !  I 
give  you  my  word  it  was  a,  deal  worse  than  any  of 
your  scoldings, — a  regular  rouser.  I’ll  tell  you  all 
about  it  sometime,  — she  never  will,  because,  after  telling 
me  that  she  despised  and  was  ashamed  of  me,  she  lost 


Surprises  563 

her  heart  to  the  despicable  party  and  married  the  good- 
for-nothing.” 

“  What  baseness !  Well,  if  she  abuses  you,  come  to 
me,  and  I  ’ll  defend  you.” 

“  I  look  as  if  I  needed  it,  don’t  I  ?  ”  said  Laurie,  get¬ 
ting  up  and  striking  an  attitude  which  suddenly  changed 
from  the  imposing  to  the  rapturous,  as  Amy’s  voice  was 
heard,  calling,  — 

“  Where  is  she?  Where ’s  my  dear  old  Jo?  ” 

In  trooped  the  whole  family,  and  every  one  was 
hugged  and  kissed  all  over  again,  and,  after  several  vain 
attempts,  the  three  wanderers  were  set  down  to  be 
looked  at  and  exulted  over.  Mr.  Laurence,  hale  and 
hearty  as  ever,  was  quite  as  much  improved  as  the  others 
by  his  foreign  tour,  for  the  crustiness  seemed  to  be 
nearly  gone,  and  the  old-fashioned  courtliness  had  re¬ 
ceived  a  polish  which  made  it  kindlier  than  ever.  It 
was  good  to  see  him  beam  at  “  my  children,”  as  he 
called  the  young  pair;  it  was  better  still  to  see  Amy 
pay  him  the  daughterly  duty  and  affection  which  com¬ 
pletely  won  his  old  heart;  and  best  of  all,  to  watch 
Laurie  revolve  about  the  two,  as  if  never  tired  of  enjoy¬ 
ing  the  pretty  picture  they  made. 

The  minute  she  put  her  eyes  upon  Amy,  Meg  became 
conscious  that  her  own  dress  had  n’t  a  Parisian  air,  that 
young  Mrs.  Moffat  would  be  entirely  eclipsed  by  young 
Mrs.  Laurence,  and  that  “  her  ladyship  ”  was  altogether 
a  most  elegant  and  graceful  woman.  Jo  thought,  as  she 
watched  the  pair,  “  How  well  they  look  together  !  I  was 
right,  and  Laurie  has  found  the  beautiful,  accomplished 
girl  who  will  become  his  home  better  than  clumsy  old 
Jo,  and  be  a  pride,  not  a  torment  to  him.”  Mrs.  March 
and  her  husband  smiled  and  nodded  at  each  other  with 
happy  faces,  for  they  saw  that  their  youngest  had  done 


Little  Women 


5  6  4 

well,  not  only  in  worldly  things,  but  the  better  wealth  of 
love,  confidence,  and  happiness. 

For  Amy’s  face  was  full  of  the  soft  brightness  which 
betokens  a  peaceful  heart,  her  voice  had  a  new  tender¬ 
ness  in  it,  and  the  cool,  prim  carriage  was  changed  to 
a  gentle  dignity,  both  womanly  and  winning.  No  little 
affectations  marred  it,  and  the  cordial  sweetness  of  her 
manner  was  more  charming  than  the  new  beauty  or 
the  old  grace,  for  it  stamped  her  at  once  with  the  un¬ 
mistakable  sign  of  the  true  gentlewoman  she  had  hoped 
to  become. 

“  Love  has  done  much  for  our  little  girl,”  said  her 
mother  softly. 

“  She  has  had  a  good  example  before  her  all  her  life, 
my  dear,”  Mr.  March  whispered  back,  with  a  loving  look 
at  the  worn  face  and  gray  head  beside  him. 

Daisy  found  it  impossible  to  keep  her  eyes  off  her 
“  pitty  aunty,”  but  attached  herself  like  a  lap-dog  to 
the  wonderful  chatelaine  full  of  delightful  charms. 
Demi  paused  to  consider  the  new  relationship  before  he 
compromised  himself  by  the  rash  acceptance  of  a  bribe, 
which  took  the  tempting  form  of  a  family  of  wooden 
bears  from  Berne.  A  flank  movement  produced  an  un¬ 
conditional  surrender,  however,  for  Laurie  knew  where 
to  have  him. 

“Young  man,  when  I  first  had  the  honor  of  making 
your  acquaintance  you  hit  me  in  the  face:  now  I  de¬ 
mand  the  satisfaction  of  a  gentleman ;  ”  and  with  that 
the  tall  uncle  proceeded  to  toss  and  tousle  the  small 
nephew  in  a  way  that  damaged  his  philosophical  dignity 
as  much  as  it  delighted  his  boyish  soul. 

“  Blest  if  she  ain’t  in  silk  from  head  to  foot !  Ain’t  it 
a  relishin’  sight  to  see  her  settin’  there  as  fine  as  a  fiddle, 
and  hear  folks  calling  little  Amy,  Mis.  Laurence?”  mut- 


Surprises  565 

tered  old  Hannah,  who  could  not  resist  frequent  “  peeks  ” 
through  the  slide  as  she  set  the  table  in  a  most  decidedly 
promiscuous  manner. 

Mercy  on  us,  how  they  did  talk !  first  one,  then  the 
other,  then  all  burst  out  together,  trying  to  tell  the  his¬ 
tory  of  three  years  in  half  an  hour.  It  was  fortunate 
that  tea  was  at  hand,  to  produce  a  lull  and  provide 
refreshment,  for  they  would  have  been  hoarse  and 
faint  if  they  had  gone  on  much  longer.  Such  a  happy 
procession  as  filed  away  into  the  little  dining-room ! 
Mr.  March  proudly  escorted  “Mrs.  Laurence;”  Mrs. 
March  as  proudly  leaned  on  the  arm  of  “  my  son ;  ”  the 
old  gentleman  took  jo,  with  a  whispered  “You  must  be 
my  girl  now,”  and  a  glance  at  the  empty  corner  by 
the  fire  that  made  Jo  whisper  back,  with  trembling 
lips,  “  I  ’ll  try  to  fill  her  place,  sir.” 

The  twins  pranced  behind,  feeling  that  the  millennium 
was  at  hand,  for  every  one  was  so  busy  with  the  new¬ 
comers  that  they  were  left  to  revel  at  their  own  sweet 
will,  and  you  may  be  sure  they  made  the  most  of  the 
opportunity.  Did  n’t  they  steal  sips  of  tea,  stuff  ginger¬ 
bread  ad  libitum ,  get  a  hot  biscuit  apiece,  and,  as  a 
crowning  trespass,  did  n’t  they  each  whisk  a  captivating 
little  tart  into  their  tiny  pockets,  there  to  stick  and 
crumble  treacherously,  teaching  them  that  both  human 
nature  and  pastry  are  frail?  Burdened  with  the  guilty 
consciousness  of  the  sequestered  tarts,  and  fearing  that 
Dodo’s  sharp  eyes  would  pierce  the  thin  disguise  of 
cambric  and  merino  which  hid  their  booty,  the  little  sin¬ 
ners  attached  themselves  to  “  Dranpa,”  who  had  n’t  his 
spectacles  on.  Amy,  who  was  handed  about  like  re¬ 
freshments,  returned  to  the  parlor  on  Father  Laurence’s 
arm  ;  the  others  paired  off  as  before,  and  this  arrange¬ 
ment  left  Jo  companionless.  She  did  not  mind  it  at 


566  Little  Women 

the  minute,  for  she  lingered  to  answer  Hannah’s  eagei 
inquiry,  — 

“Will  Miss  Amy  ride  in  her  coop  ( coupe ),  and  use 
all  them  lovely  silver  dishes  that ’s  stored  away  over 
yander  ?  ’’ 

“  Should  n’t  wonder  if  she  drove  six  white  horses,  ate 
off  gold  plate,  and  wore  diamonds  and  point-lace  every 
day.  Teddy  thinks  nothing  too  good  for  her,’’  returned 
Jo  with  infinite  satisfaction. 

“  No  more  there  is  !  Will  you  have  hash  or  fish-balls 
for  breakfast?”  asked  Hannah,  who  wisely  mingled 
poetry  and  prose. 

“I  don’t  care;”  and  Jo  shut  the  door,  feeling  that 
food  was  an  uncongenial  topic  just  then.  She  stood  a 
minute  looking  at  the  party  vanishing  above,  and,  as 
Demi’s  short  plaid  legs  toiled  up  the  last  stair,  a  sudden 
sense  of  loneliness  came  over  her  so  strongly  that  she 
looked  about  her  with  dim  eyes,  as  if  to  find  something 
to  lean  upon,  for  even  Teddy  had  deserted  her.  If  she 
had  known  what  birthday  gift  was  coming  every  minute 
nearer  and  nearer,  she  would  not  have  said  to  herself, 
“  I  ’ll  weep  a  little  weep  when  I  go  to  bed  ;  it  won’t  do 
to  be  dismal  now.”  Then  she  drew  her  hand  over  her 
eyes,  —  for  one  of  her  boyish  habits  was  never  to  know 
where  her  handkerchief  was,  —  and  had  just  managed  to 
call  up  a  smile  when  there  came  a  knock  at  the  porch- 
door. 

She  opened  it  with  hospitable  haste,  and  started  as  if 
another  ghost  had  come  to  surprise  her ;  for  there  stood 
a  tall,  bearded  gentleman,  beaming  on  her  from  the 
darkness  like  a  midnight  sun. 

“  O  Mr.  Bhaer,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  !  ”  cried  Jo, 
.  with  a  clutch,  as  if  she  feared  the  night  would  swallow 
him  up  before  she  could  get  him  in. 


Surprises  567 

“And  I  to  see  Miss  Marsch,  —  but  no,  you  haf  a 
party  —  ”  and  the  Professor  paused  as  the  sound  of 
voices  and  the  tap  of  dancing  feet  came  down  to  them. 

“No,  we  haven’t,  only  the  family.  My  sister  and 
friends  have  just  come  home,  and  we  are  all  very 
happy.  Come  in,  and  make  one  of  us.” 

Though  a  very  social  man,  I  think  Mr.  Bhaer  would 
have  gone  decorously  away,  and  come  again  another 
day;  but  how  could  he,  when  Jo  shut  the  door  behind 
him,  and  bereft  him  of  his  hat?  Perhaps  her  face  had 
something  to  do  with  it,  for  she  forgot  to  hide  her  joy 
at  seeing  him,  and  showed  it  with  a  frankness  that 
proved  irresistible  to  the  solitary  man,  whose  welcome 
far  exceeded  his  boldest  hopes. 

“  If  I  shall  not  be  Monsieur  de  Trop,  I  will  so  gladly 
see  them  all.  You  haf  been  ill,  my  friend?” 

He  put  the  question  abruptly,  for,  as  Jo  hung  up  his 
coat,  the  light  fell  on  her  face,  and  he  saw  a  change  in  it. 

“  Not  ill,  but  tired  and  sorrowful.  We  have  had  trouble 
since  I  saw  you  last.” 

“  Ah,  yes,  I  know.  My  heart  was  sore  for  you  when 
I  heard  that;  ”  and  he  shook  hands  again,  with  such  a 
sympathetic  face,  that  Jo  felt  as  if  no  comfort  could 
equal  the  look  of  the  kind  eyes,  the  grasp  of  the  big, 
warm  hand. 

“  Father,  mother,  this  is  my  friend,  Professor  Bhaer,” 
she  said,  with  a  face  and  tone  of  such  irrepressible  pride 
and  pleasure  that  she  might  as  well  have  blown  a  trumpet 
and  opened  the  door  with  a  flourish. 

If  the  stranger  had  had  any  doubts  about  his  recep¬ 
tion,  they  were  set  at  rest  in  a  minute  by  the  cordial 
welcome  he  received.  Every  one  greeted  him  kindly, 
for  Jo’s  sake  at  first,  but  very  soon  they  liked  him  for 
his  own.  They  could  not  help  it,  for  he  carried  the 


Little  Women 


568 

talisman  that  opens  all  hearts,  and  these  simple  people 
warmed  to  him  at  once,  feeling  even  the  more  friendly 
because  he  was  poor;  for  poverty  enriches  those  who 
live  above  it,  and  is  a  sure  passport  to  truly  hospitable 
spirits.  Mr.  Bhaer  sat  looking  about  him  with  the  air 
of  a  traveller  who  knocks  at  a  strange  door,  and,  when 
it  opens,  finds  himself  at  home.  The  children  went  to 
him  like  bees  to  a  honey-pot;  and,  establishing  them¬ 
selves  on  each  knee,  proceeded  to  captivate  him  by 
rifling  his  pockets,  pulling  his  beard,  and-  investigating 
his  watch,  with  juvenile  audacity.  The  women  tele¬ 
graphed  their  approval  to  one  another,  and  Mr.  March, 
feeling  that  he  had  got  a  kindred  spirit,  opened  his 
choicest  stores  for  his  guest’s  benefit,  while  silent  John 
listened  and  enjoyed  the  talk,  but  said  not  a  word,  and 
Mr.  Laurence  found  it  impossible  to  go  to  sleep. 

If  Jo  had  not  been  otherwise  engaged,  Laurie’s  be¬ 
havior  would  have  amused  her;  for  a  faint  twinge,  not 
of  jealousy,  but  something  like  suspicion,  caused  that 
gentleman  to  stand  aloof  at  first,  and  observe  the  new- 
comer  with  brotherly  circumspection.  But  it  did  not 
last  long.  He  got  interested  in  spite  of  himself,  and, 
before  he  knew  it,  was  drawn  into  the  circle;  for  Mr. 
Bhaer  talked  well  in  this  genial  atmosphere,  and  did 
himself  justice.  He  seldom  spoke  to  Laurie,  but  he 
looked  at  him  often,  and  a  shadow  would  pass  across 
his  face,  as  if  regretting  his  own  lost  youth,  as  he  watched 
the  young  man  in  his  prime.  Then  his  eye  would  turn 
to  Jo  so  wistfully  that  she  would  have  surely  answered 
the  mute  inquiry  if  she  had  seen  it;  but  Jo  had  her  own 
eyes  to  take  care  of,  and,  feeling  that  they  could  not  be 
trusted,  she  prudently  kept  them  on  the  little  sock  she 
was  knitting,  like  a  model  maiden  aunt. 

A  stealthy  glance  now  and  then  refreshed  her  like  sips 


Surprises  569 

of  fresh  water  after  a  dusty  walk,  for  the  sidelong  peeps 
showed  her  several  propitious  omens.  Mr.  Bhaer’s  face 
had  lost  the  absent-minded  expression,  and  looked  all 
alive  with  interest  in  the  present  moment,  actually  young 
and  handsome,  she  thought,  forgetting  to  compare  him 
with  Laurie,  as  she  usually  did  strange  men,  to  their  great 
detriment.  Then  he  seemed  quite  inspired,  though  the 
burial  customs  of  the  ancients,  to  which  the  conversation 
had  strayed,  might  not  be  considered  an  exhilarating 
topic.  Jo  quite  glowed  with  triumph  when  Teddy  got 
quenched  in  an  argument,  and  thought  to  herself,  as  she 
watched  her  father’s  absorbed  face,  “  How  he  would 
enjoy  having  such  a  man  as  my  Professor  to  talk  with 
every  day!”  Lastly,  Mr.  Bhaer  was  dressed  in  a  new 
suit  of  black,  which  made  him  look  more  like  a  gentle¬ 
man  than  ever.  His  bushy  hair  had  been  cut  and 
smoothly  brushed,  but  did  n’t  stay  in  order  long,  for, 
in  exciting  moments,  he  rumpled  it  up  in  the  droll  way 
he  used  to  do;  and  Jo  liked  it  rampantly  erect  better 
than  flat,  because  she  thought  it  gave  his  fine  forehead 
a  Jove-like  aspect.  Poor  Jo,  how  she  did  glorify  that 
plain  man,  as  she  sat  knitting  away  so  quietly,  yet  let¬ 
ting  nothing  escape  her,  not  even  the  fact  that  Mr.  Bhaer 
actually  had  gold  sleeve-buttons  in  his  immaculate  wrist¬ 
bands  ! 

“  Dear  old  fellow !  He  could  n’t  have  got  himself 
up  with  more  care  if  he ’d  been  going  a-wooing,”  said 
Jo  to  herself;  and  then  a  sudden  thought,  born  of  the 
words,  made  her  blush  so  dreadfully  that  she  had  to 
drop  her  ball,  and  go  down  after  it  to  hide  her  face. 

The  manoeuvre  did  not  succeed  as  well  as  she  expected, 
however;  for,  though  just  in  the  act  of  setting  fire  to  a 
funeral-pile,  the  Professor  dropped  his  torch,  metaphori¬ 
cally  speaking,  and  made  a  dive  after  the  little  blue  ball. 


Little  Women 


57° 

Of  course  they  bumped  their  heads  smartly  together,  saw 
stars,  and  both  came  up  flushed  and  laughing,  without 
the  ball,  to  resume  their  seats,  wishing  they  had  not  left 
them. 

Nobody  knew  where  the  evening  went  to  ;  for  Hannah 
skilfully  abstracted  the  babies  at  an  early  hour,  nodding 
like  two  rosy  poppies,  and  Mr.  Laurence  went  home 
to  rest.  The  others  sat  round  the  fire,  talking  away, 
utterly  regardless  of  the  lapse  of  time,  till  Meg,  whose 
maternal  mind  was  impressed  with  a  firm  conviction  that 
Daisy  had  tumbled  out  of  bed,  and  Demi  set  his  night¬ 
gown  afire  studying  the  structure  of  matches,  made  a 
move  to  go. 

“  We  must  have  our  sing,  in  the  good  old  way,  for  we 
are  all  together  again  once  more/’  said  Jo,  feeling  that  a 
good  shout  would  be  a  safe  and  pleasant  vent  for  the 
jubilant  emotions  of  her  soul. 

They  were  not^//  there.  But  no  one  found  the  words 
thoughtless  or  untrue  ;  for  Beth  still  seemed  among  them, 
a  peaceful  presence,  invisible,  but  dearer  than  ever,  since 
death  could  not  break  the  household  league  that  love 
made  indissoluble.  The  little  chair  stood  in  its  old 
place ;  the  tidy  basket,  with  the  bit  of  work  she  left 
unfinished  when  the  needle  grew  “  so  heavy,”  was  still  on 
its  accustomed  shelf;  the  beloved  instrument,  seldom 
touched  now,  had  not  been  moved  ;  and  above  it  Beth’s 
face,  serene  and  smiling,  as  in  the  early  days,  looked 
down  upon  them,  seeming  to  say,  “  Be  happy.  I  am 
here.” 

“  Play  something,  Amy.  Let  them  hear  how  much 
you  have  improved,”  said  Laurie,  with  pardonable  pride 
in  his  promising  pupil. 

But  Amy  whispered,  with  full  eyes,  as  she  twirled  the 
faded  stool,  — 


Surprises  571 

“  Not  to-night,  dear.  I  can’t  show  off  to-night.” 

But  she  did  show  something  better  than  brilliancy  or 
skill ;  for  she  sung  Beth’s  songs  with  a  tender  music  in  her 
voice  which  the  best  master  could  not  have  taught,  and 
touched  the  listeners’  hearts  with  a  sweeter  power  than 
any  other  inspiration  could  have  given  her.  The  room 
was  very  still,  when  the  clear  voice  failed  suddenly  at 
the  last  line  of  Beth’s  favorite  hymn.  It  was  hard  to 
say, — 

“  Earth  hath  no  sorrow  that  heaven  cannot  heal ;  ” 

and  Amy  leaned  against  her  husband,  who  stood  behind 
her,  feeling  that  her  welcome  home  was  not  quite  perfect 
without  Beth’s  kiss. 

“Now,  we  must  finish  with  Mignon’s  song;  for  Mr. 
Bhaer  sings  that,”  said  Jo,  before  the  pause  grew  pain¬ 
ful.  And  Mr.  Bhaer  cleared  his  throat  with  a  gratified 
“  Hem  !  ”  as  he  stepped  into  the  corner  where  Jo  stood, 
saying,  — 

“You  will  sing  with  me?  We  go  excellently  well 
together.” 

A  pleasing  fiction,  by  the  way;  for  Jo  had  no  more 
idea  of  music  than  a  grasshopper.  But  she  would  have 
consented  if  he  had  proposed  to  sing  a  whole  opera,  and 
warbled  away,  blissfully  regardless  of  time  and  tune.  It 
did  n’t  much  matter ;  for  Mr.  Bhaer  sang  like  a  true  Ger¬ 
man,  heartily  and  well ;  and  Jo  soon  subsided  into  a  sub¬ 
dued  hum,  that  she  might  listen  to  the  mellow  voice  that 
seemed  to  sing  for  her  alone. 

“  Know’st  thou  the  land  where  the  citron  blooms,” 

used  to  be  the  Professor’s  favorite  line,  for  “  das  land  ” 
meant  Germany  to  him  ;  but  now  he  seemed  to  dwell, 
with  peculiar  warmth  and  melody,  upon  the  words,  — ■ 


SI 2 


Little  Women 


“  There,  oh  there,  might  I  with  thee, 

O  my  beloved,  go  !  ” 

and  one  listener  was  so  thrilled  by  the  tender  invitation 
that  she  longed  to-say  she  did  know  the  land,  and  would 
joyfully  depart  thither  whenever  he  liked. 

The  song  was  considered  a  great  success,  and  the 
singer  retired  covered  with  laurels.  But  a  few  minutes 
afterward,  he  forgot  his  manners  entirely,  and  stared  at 
Amy  putting  on  her  bonnet;  for  she  had  been  intro¬ 
duced  simply  as  “  my  sister,”  and  no  one  had  called  her 
by  her  new  name  since  he  came.  He  forgot  himself 
still  further  when  Laurie  said,  in  his  most  gracious 
manner,  at  parting, — 

“  My  wife  and  I  are  very  glad  to  meet  you,  sir.  Please 
remember  that  there  is  always  a  welcome  waiting  for  you 
over  the  way.” 

Then  the  Professor  thanked  him  so  heartily,  and 
looked  so  suddenly  illuminated  with  satisfaction,  that 
Laurie  thought  him  the  most  delightfully  demonstrative 
old  fellow  he  ever  met. 

“  I  too  shall  go ;  but  I  shall  gladly  come  again,  if  you 
will  gif  me  leave,  dear  madame,  for  a  little  business  in 
the  city  will  keep  me  here  some  days.” 

He  spoke  to  Mrs.  March,  but  he  looked  at  Jo;  and 
the  mother’s  voice  gave  as  cordial  an  assent  as  did  the 
daughter’s  eyes  ;  for  Mrs.  March  was  not  so  blind  to  her 
children’s  interest  as  Mrs.  Moffat  supposed. 

“  I  suspect  that  is  a  wise  man,”  remarked  Mr.  March, 
with  placid  satisfaction,  from  the  hearth-rug,  after  the 
last  guest  had  gone. 

“  I  know  he  is  a  good  one,”  added  Mrs.  March,  with 
decided  approval,  as  she  wound  up  the  clock. 

“I  thought  you’d  like  him,”  was  all  Jo  said,  as  she 
slipped  away  to  her  bed. 


My  Lord  and  Lady  573 

She  wondered  what  the  business  was  that  brought 
Mr.  Bhaer  to  the  city,  and  finally  decided  that  he  had 
been  appointed  to  some  great  honor,  somewhere,  but  had 
been  too  modest  to  mention  the  fact.  If  she  had  seen 
his  face  when,  safe  in  his  own  room,  he  looked  at  the  pic¬ 
ture  of  a  severe  and  rigid  young  lady,  with  a  good  deal  of 
hair,  who  appeared  to  be  gazing  darkly  into  futurity,  it 
might  have  thrown  some  light  upon  the  subject,  espe¬ 
cially  when  he  turned  off  the  gas,  and  kissed  the  picture 
in  the  dark. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

MY  LORD  AND  LADY 

“  1  ^LEASE,  Madam  Mother,  could  you  lend  me 
my  wife  for  half  an  hour?  The  luggage  has 

_JL  come,  and  I  Ve  been  making  hay  of  Amy’s  Paris 
finery,  trying  to  find  some  things  I  want,”  said  Laurie, 
coming  in  the  next  day  to  find  Mrs.  Laurence  sitting  in 
her  mother’s  lap,  as  if  being  made  “  the  baby”  again. 

“Certainly.  Go,  dear;  I  forget  that  you  have  any 
home  but  this,”  and  Mrs.  March  pressed  the  white  hand 
that  wore  the  wedding-ring,  as  if  asking  pardon  for  her 
maternal  covetousness. 

“  I  should  n’t  have  come  over  if  I  could  have  helped 
it ;  but  I  can’t  get  on  without  my  little  woman  any  more 
than  a  —  ” 

“Weathercock  can  without  wind,”  suggested  Jo,  as  he 
paused  for  a  simile;  Jo  had  grown  quite  her  own  saucy 
self  again  since  Teddy  came  home. 

“  Exactly  ;  for  Amy  keeps  me  pointing  due  west  most 
of  the  time,  with  only  an  occasional  whiffle  round  to  the 


Little  Women 


574 

south,  and  I  have  n’t  had  an  easterly  spell  since  I  was 
married  ;  don’t  know  anything  about  the  north,  but  am 
altogether  salubrious  and  balmy,  hey,  my  lady?” 

“  Lovely  weather  so  far  ;  I  don’t  know  how  long  it  will 
last,  but  I ’m  not  afraid  of  storms,  for  I ’m  learning  how  to 
sail  my  ship.  Come  home,  dear,  and  I  ’ll  find  your  boot- 
jack  ;  I  suppose  that ’s  what  you  are  rummaging  after 
among  my  things.  Men  are  so  helpless,  mother,”  said 
Amy,  with  a  matronly  air,  which  delighted  her  husband. 

“  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourselves  after  you 
get  settled  ?  ”  asked  J o,  buttoning  Amy’s  cloak  as  she  used 
to  button  her  pinafores. 

“  We  have  our  plans  ;  we  don’t  mean  to  say  much  about 
them  yet,  because  we  are  such  very  new  brooms,  but  we 
don’t  intend  to  be  idle.  I ’m  going  into  business  with  a 
devotion  that  shall  delight  grandfather,  and  prove  to  him 
that  I ’m  not  spoilt.  I  need  something  of  the  sort  to  keep 
me  steady.  I ’m  tired  of  dawdling,  and  mean  to  work  like 
a  man.” 

“And  Amy,  what  is  she  going  to  do?”  asked  Mrs. 
March,  well  pleased  at  Laurie’s  decision,  and  the  energy 
with  which  he  spoke. 

“  After  doing  the  civil  all  round,  and  airing  our  best 
bonnet,  we  shall  astonish  you  by  the  elegant  hospitalities 
of  our  mansion,  the  brilliant  society  we  shall  draw  about 
us,  and  the  beneficial  influence  we  shall  exert  over  the 
world  at  large.  That’s  about  it,  is  n’t  it,  Madame  Reca- 
mier?”  asked  Laurie,  with  a  quizzical  look  at  Amy. 

“  Time  will  show.  Come  away,  Impertinence,  and 
don’t  shock  my  family  by  calling  me  names  before  their 
faces,”  answered  Amy,  resolving  that  there  should  be  a 
home  with  a  good  wife  in  it  before  she  set  up  a  salon  as 
a  queen  of  society. 

“  How  happy  those  children  seem  together  !  ”  observed 


My  Lord  and  Lady  575 

Mr.  March,  finding  it  difficult  to  become  absorbed  in  his 
Aristotle  after  the  young  couple  had  gone. 

“  Yes,  and  I  think  it  will  last,”  added  Mrs.  March,  with 
the  restful  expression  of  a  pilot  who  has  brought  a  ship 
safely  into  port. 

“  I  know  it  will.  Happy  Amy  !  ”  and  Jo  sighed,  then 
smiled  brightly  as  Professor  Bhaer  opened  the  gate  with 
an  impatient  push. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  his  mind  had  been  set  at 
rest  about  the  bootjack,  Laurie  said  suddenly  to  his  wife, 
who  wras  flitting  about,  arranging  her  new  art  treasures,  — 

“  Mrs.  Laurence.” 

“  My  lord  !  ” 

“  That  man  intends  to  marry  our  Jo  !  ” 

“  I  hope  so  ;  don’t  you,  dear?  ” 

“  Well,  my  love,  I  consider  him  a  trump,  in  the  fullest 
sense  of  that  expressive  word,  but  I  do  wish  he  was  a 
little  younger  and  a  good  deal  richer.” 

“  Now,  Laurie,  don’t  be  too  fastidious  and  worldly- 
minded.  If  they  love  one  another  it  does  n’t  matter  a 
particle  how  old  they  are  nor  how  poor.  Women  never 
should  marry  for  money  —  ”  Amy  caught  herself  up 
short  as  the  words  escaped  her,  and  looked  at  her  hus¬ 
band,  who  replied,  with  malicious  gravity,  — 

“  Certainly  not,  though  you  do  hear  charming  girls  say 
that  they  intend  to  do  it  sometimes.  If  my  memory 
serves  me,  you  once  thought  it  your  duty  to  make  a 
rich  match;  that  accounts,  perhaps,  for  your  marrying 
a  good-for-nothing  like  me.” 

“  O  my  dearest  boy,  don’t,  don’t  say  that !  I  forgot 
you  were  rich  when  I  said ‘Yes.’  I ’d  have  married  you 
if  you  had  n’t  a  penny,  and  I  sometimes  wish  you  were 
poor  that  I  might  show  how  much  I  love  you  ;  ”  and 
Amy,  who  was  very  dignified  in  public  and  very  fond 


Little  Women 


in  private,  gave  convincing  proofs  of  the  truth  of  her 
words. 

“  Adu  don’t  really  think  I  am  such  a  mercenary  crea¬ 
ture  as  I  tried  to  be  once,  do  you?  It  would  break  my 
heart  if  you  did  n’t  believe  that  I ’d  gladly  pull  in  the  same 
boat  with  you,  even  if  you  had  to  get  your  living  by 
rowing  on  the  lake.” 

“Am  I  an  idiot  and  a  brute?  How  could  I  think  so, 
when  you  refused  a  richer  man  for  me,  and  won’t  let  me 
give  you  half  I  want  to  now,  when  I  have  the  right?  Girls 
do  it  every  day,  poor  things,  and  are  taught  to  think  it 
is  their  only  salvation ;  but  you  had  better  lessons,  and, 
though  I  trembled  for  you  at  one  time,  I  was  not  dis¬ 
appointed,  for  the  daughter  was  true  to  the  mother’s 
teaching.  I  told  mamma  so  yesterday,  and  she  looked 
as  glad  and  grateful  as  if  I ’d  given  her  a  check  for  a  mil¬ 
lion,  to  be  spent  in  charity.  You  are  not  listening  to  my 
moral  remarks,  Mrs.  Laurence;”  and  Laurie  paused, 
for  Amy’s  eyes  had  an  absent  look,  though  fixed  upon 
his  face. 

“  Yes,  I  am,  and  admiring  the  dimple  in  your  chin  at 
the  same  time.  I  don’t  wish  to  make  you  vain,  but  I 
must  confess  that  I ’m  prouder  of  my  handsome  husband 
than  of  all  his  money.  Don’t  laugh,  but  your  nose  is 
such  a  comfort  to  me ;  ”  and  Amy  softly  caressed  the 
well-cut  feature  with  artistic  satisfaction. 

Laurie  had  received  many  compliments  in  his  life,  but 
never  one  that  suited  him  better,  as  he  plainly  showed, 
though  he  did  laugh  at  his  wife’s  peculiar  taste,  while  she 
said  slowly,  — 

“  May  I  ask  you  a  question,  dear?  ” 

“  Of  course  you  may.” 

“  Shall  you  care  if  Jo  does  marry  Mr.  Bhaer?  ” 

“  Oh,  that’s  the  trouble,  is  it?  I  thought  there  was 


My  Lord  and  Lady  577 

something  in  the  dimple  that  did  n’t  suit  you.  Not  being 
a  dog  in  the  manger,  but  the  happiest  fellow  alive,  I 
assure  you  I  can  dance  at  Jo’s  wedding  with  a  heart  as 
light  as  my  heels.  Do  you  doubt  it,  my  darling?  ” 

Amy  looked  up  at  him,  and  was  satisfied  ;  her  last  little 
jealous  fear  vanished  forever,  and  she  thanked  him,  with 
a  face  full  of  love  and  confidence. 

“  I  wish  we  could  do  something  for  that  capital  old 
Professor.  Could  n’t  we  invent  a  rich  relation,  who  shall 
obligingly  die  out  there  in  Germany,  and  leave  him  a  tidy 
little  fortune?  ”  said  Laurie,  when  they  began  to  pace  up 
and  down  the  long  drawing-room,  arm-in-arm,  as  they 
were  fond  of  doing,  in  memory  of  the  chateau  garden. 

“  Jo  would  find  us  out,  and  spoil  it  all ;  she  is  very 
proud  of  him,  just  as  he  is,  and  said  yesterday  that  she 
thought  poverty  was  a  beautiful  thing.” 

“  Bless  her  dear  heart !  she  won’t  think  so  when  she  has 
a  literary  husband,  and  a  dozen  little  professors  and  pro- 
fessorins  to  support.  We  won’t  interfere  now,  but  watch 
our  chance,  and  do  them  a  good  turn  in  spite  of  them¬ 
selves.  I  owe  Jo  for  a  part  of  my  education,  and  she 
believes  in  people’s  paying  their  honest  debts,  so  I  ’ll 
get  round  her  in  that  way.” 

“  How  delightful  it  is  to  be  able  to  help  others,  is  n’t  it  ? 
That  was  always  one  of  my  dreams,  to  have  the  power  of 
giving  freely;  and,  thanks  to  you,  the  dream  has  come 
true.” 

“  Ah  !  we  ’ll  do  quantities  of  good,  won’t  we?  There’s 
one  sort  of  poverty  that  I  particularly  like  to  help.  Out- 
and-out  beggars  get  taken  care  of,  but  poor  gentlefolks 
fare  badly,  because  they  won’t  ask,  and  people  don’t  dare 
to  offer  charity  ;  yet  there  are  a  thousand  ways  of  helping 
them,  if  one  only  knows  how  to  do  it  so  delicately  that 
it  does  not  offend.  I  must  say,  I  like  to  serve  a  decayed 

37 


Little  Women 


578 

gentleman  better  than  a  blarneying  beggar  ;  I  suppose 
it-’s  wrong,  but  I  do,  though  it  is  harder.” 

“  Because  it  takes  a  gentleman  to  do  it,”  added  the 
other  member  of  the  domestic  admiration  society. 

“  Thank  you,  I ’m  afraid  I  don’t  deserve  that  pretty 
compliment.  But  I  was  going  to  say  that  while  I  was 
dawdling  about  abroad,  I  saw  a  good  many  talented 
young  fellows  making  all  sorts  of  sacrifices,  and  enduring 
real  hardships,  that  they  might  realize  their  dreams. 
Splendid  fellows,  some  of  them,  working  like  heroes,  pool 
and  friendless,  but  so  full  of  courage,  patience,  and  ambi¬ 
tion,  that  I  was  ashamed  of  myself,  and  longed  to  give 
them  a  right  good  lift.  Those  are  people  whom  it ’s  a 
satisfaction  to  help,  for  if  they  Ve  got  genius,  it ’s  an 
honor  to  be  allowed  to  serve  them,  and  not  let  it  be  lost 
or  delayed  for  want  of  fuel  to  keep  the  pot  boiling;  if 
they  have  n’t,  it ’s  a  pleasure  to  comfort  the  poor  souls, 
and  keep  them  from  despair  when  they  find  it  out.” 

“Yes,  indeed;  and  there’s  another  class  who  can’t 
ask,  and  who  suffer  in  silence.  I  know  something  of 
it,  for  I  belonged  to  it  before  you  made  a  princess  of 
me,  as  the  king  does  the  beggar-maid  in  the  old  story. 
Ambitious  girls  have  a  hard  time,  Laurie,  and  often  * 
have  to  see  youth,  health,  and  precious  opportunities 
go  by,  just  for  want  of  a  little  help  at  the  right  minute. 
People  have  been  very  kind  to  me ;  and  whenever  I  see 
girls  struggling  along,  as  we  used  to  do,  I  want  to  put 
out  my  hand  and  help  them,  as  I  was  helped.” 

“And  so  you  shall,  like  an  angel  as  you  are!  ”  cried 
Laurie,  resolving,  with  a  glow  of  philanthropic  zeal,  to 
found  and  endow  an  institution  for  the  express  benefit 
of  young  women  with  artistic  tendencies.  “  Rich  people 
have  no  right  to  sit  down  and  enjoy  themselves,  or  let 
their  money  accumulate  for  others  to  waste.  It ’s  not 


Daisy  and  Demi  579 

half  so  sensible  to  leave  legacies  when  one  dies  as  it  is 
to  use  the  money  wisely  while  alive,  and  enjoy  making 
one’s  fellow-creatures  happy  with  it.  We’ll  have  a 
good  time  ourselves,  and  add  an  extra  relish  to  our 
own  pleasure  by  giving  other  people  a  generous  taste. 
Will  you  be  a  little  Dorcas,  going  about  emptying  a 
big  basket  of  comforts,  and  filling  it  up  with  good 
deeds  ?  ” 

“  With  all  my  heart,  if  you  will  be  a  brave  St.  Martin, 
stopping,  as  you  ride  gallantly  through  the  world,  to 
share  your  cloak  with  the  beggar.” 

“  It ’s  a  bargain,  and  we  shall  get  the  best  of  it !  ” 

So  the  young  pair  shook  hands  upon  it,  and  then 
paced  happily  on  again,  feeling  that  their  pleasant- 
home  was  more  home-like  because  they  hoped  to 
brighten  other  homes,  believing  that  their  own  feet 
would  walk  more  uprightly  along  the  flowery  path 
before  them,  if  they  smoothed  rough  ways  for  other 
feet,  and  feeling  that  their  hearts  were  more  closely 
knit  together  by  a  love  which  could  tenderly  remember 
those  less  blest  than  they. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

DAISY  AND  DEMI 

I  CANNOT  feel  that  I  have  done  my  duty  as  humble 
historian  of  the  March  family,  without  devoting  at 
least  one  chapter  to  the  two  most  precious  and 
important  members  of  it.  Daisy  and  Demi  had  now 
arrived  at  years  of  discretion ;  for  in  this  fast  age 
babies  of  three  or  four  assert  their  rights,  and  get  them, 
too,  which  is  more  than  many  of  their  elders  do.  If 


I 


Little  Women 


580 

there  ever  were  a  pair  of  twins  in  danger  of  being 
utterly  spoilt  by  adoration,  it  was  these  prattling 
Brookes.  Of  course  they  were  the  most  remarkable 
children  ever  born,  as  will  be  shown  when  I  mention 
that  they  walked  at  eight  months,  talked  fluently  at 
twelve  months,  and  at  two  years  they  took  their  places 
at  table,  and  behaved  with  a  propriety  which  charmed 
all  beholders.  At  three,  Daisy  demanded  a  “  needier,” 
and  actually  made  a  bag  with  four  stitches  in  it;  she 
likewise  set  up  house-keeping  in  the  sideboard,  and 
managed  a  microscopic  cooking-stove  with  a  skill  that 
brought  tears  of  pride  to  Hannah’s  eyes,  while  Demi 
learned  his  letters  with  his  grandfather,  who  invented 
a  new  mode  of  teaching  the  alphabet  by  forming  the 
letters  with  his  arms  and  legs,  thus  uniting  gymnas¬ 
tics  for  head  and  heels.  The  boy  early  developed  a 
mechanical  genius  which  delighted  his  father  and 
distracted  his  mother,  for  he  tried  to  imitate  every 
machine  he  saw,  and  kept  the  nursery  in  a  chaotic 
condition,  with  his  “  sewin-sheen,”  —  a  mysterious 
structure  of  string,  chairs,  clothes-pins,  and  spools,  for 
wheels  to  go  “  wound  and  wound ;  ”  also  a  basket 
hung  over  the  back  of  a  big  chair,  in  which  he  vainly 
tried  to  hoist  his  too  confiding  sister,  who,  with  femi¬ 
nine  devotion,  allowed  her  little  head  to  be  bumped  till 
rescued,  when  the  young  inventor  indignantly  remarked, 
“  Why,  marmar,  dat ’s  my  lellywaiter,  and  me  ’s  trying 
to  pull  her  up.” 

Though  utterly  unlike  in  character,  the  twins  got  on 
remarkably  well  together,  and  seldom  quarrelled  more 
than  thrice  a  day.  Of  course,  Demi  tyrannized  over 
Daisy,  and  gallantly  defended  her  from  every  other 
aggressor;  while  Daisy  made  a  galley-slave  of  herself, 
and  adored  her  brother  as  the  one  perfect  being  in  the 


Daisy  and  Demi  581 

world.  A  rosy,  chubby,  sunshiny  little  soul  was  Daisy, 
who  found  her  way  to  everybody’s  heart,  and  nestled 
there.  One  of  the  captivating  children,  who  seem 
made  to  be  kissed  and  cuddled,  adorned  and  adored 
like  little  goddesses,  and  produced  for  general  approval 
on  all  festive  occasions.  Her  small  virtues  were  so 
sweet  that  she  would  have  been  quite  angelic  if  a  few 
small  naughtinesses  had  not  kept  her  delightfully 
human.  It  was  all  fair  weather  in  her  world,  and  every 
morning  she  scrambled  up  to  the  window  in  her  little 
night-gown  to  look  out,  and  say,  no  matter  whether 
it  rained  or  shone,  “  Oh,  pitty  day,  oh,  pi  tty  day  !  ” 
Every  one  was  a  friend,  and  she  offered  kisses  to  a 
stranger  so  confidingly  that  the  most  inveterate  bachelor 
relented,  and  baby-lovers  became  faithful  worshippers. 

“  Me  loves  evvybody,”  she  once  said,  opening  her 
arms,  with  her  spoon  in  one  hand,  and  her  mug  in  the 
other,  as  if  eager  to  embrace  and  nourish  the  whole 
world. 

As  she  grew,  her  mother  began  to  feel  that  the  Dove¬ 
cote  would  be  blest  by  the  presence  of  an  inmate  as 
serene  and  loving  as  that  which  had  helped  to  make 
the  old  house  home,  and  to  pray  that  she  might  be 
spared  a  loss  like  that  which  had  lately  taught  them 
how  long  they  had  entertained  an  angel  unawares. 
Her  grandfather  often  called  her  “  Beth,”  and  her 
grandmother  watched  over  her  with  untiring  devotion, 
as  if  trying  to  atone  for  some  past  mistake,  which  no 
eye  but  her  own  could  see. 

Demi,  like  a  true  Yankee,  was  of  an  inquiring  turn, 
wanting  to  know  everything,  and  often  getting  much 
disturbed  because  he  could  not  get  satisfactory  answers 
to  his  perpetual  “  What  for  ?  ” 

He  also  possessed  a  philosophic  bent,  to  the  great 


Little  Women 


582 

delight  of  his  grandfather,  who  used  to  hold  Socratic 
conversations  with  him,  in  which  the  precocious  pupil 
occasionally  posed  his  teacher,  to  the  undisguised  satis¬ 
faction  of  the  womenfolk. 

“  What  makes  my  legs  go,  dranpa  ?  ”  asked  the 
young  philosopher,  surveying  those  active  portions  of 
his  frame  with  a  meditative  air,  while  resting  after  a 
go-to-bed  frolic  one  night. 

“It’s  your  little  mind,  Demi,”  replied  the  sage, 
stroking  the  yellow  head  respectfully. 

“  What  is  a  little  mine  ?  ” 

“  It  is  something  which  makes  your  body  move,  as 
the  spring  made  the  wheels  go  in  my  watch  when  I 
showed  it  to  you.” 

“Open  me;  I  want  to  see  it  go  wound.” 

“  I  can’t  do  that  any  more  than  you  could  open  the 
watch.  God  winds  you  up,  and  you  go  till  He  stops 
you.” 

“  Does  I  ?  ”  and  Demi’s  brown  eyes  grew  big  and 
bright  as  he  took  in,  the  new  thought.  “  Is  I  wounded 
up  like  the  watch  ?  ” 

**  Yes;  but  I  can’t  show  you  how;  for  it  is  done  when 
we  don’t  see.” 

Demi  felt  of  his  back,  as  if  expecting  to  find  it  like 
that  of  the  watch,  and  then  gravely  remarked,  — 

“  I  dess  Dod  does  it  when  I ’s  asleep.” 

A  careful  explanation  followed,  to  which  he  listened 
so  attentively  that  his  anxious  grandmother  said,  — 

“  My  dear,  do  you  think  it  wise  to  talk  about  such 
things  to  that  baby  ?  He  ’s  getting  great  bumps  over 
his  eyes,  and  learning  to  ask  the  most  unanswerable 
questions.” 

“  If  he  is  old  enough  to  ask  the  questions  he  is  old 
enough  to  receive  true  answers.  I  am  not  putting  the 


Daisy  and  Demi  583 

thoughts  into  his  head,  but  helping  him  unfold  those 
already  there.  These  children  are  wiser  than  we  are, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  the  boy  understands  every  word  I 
have  said  to  him.  Now,  Demi,  tell  me  where  you  keep 
your  mind  ?  ” 

If  the  boy  had  replied  like  Alcibiades,  “  By  the  gods, 
Socrates,  I  cannot  tell,”  his  grandfather  would  not  have 
been  surprised;  but  when,  after  standing  a  moment  on 
one  leg,  like  a  meditative  young  stork,  he  answered,  in 
a  tone  of  calm  conviction,  “  In  my  little  belly,”  the  old 
gentleman  could  only  join  in  grandma’s  laugh,  and  dis¬ 
miss  the  class  in  metaphysics. 

There  might  have  been  cause  for  maternal  anxiety,  if 
Demi  had  not  given  convincing  proofs  that  he  was  a  true 
boy,  as  well  as  a  budding  philosopher;  for,  often,  after  a 
discussion  which  caused  Hannah  to  prophesy,  with  omi¬ 
nous  nods,  “  That  child  ain’t  long  for  this  world,”  he 
would  turn  about  and  set  her  fears  at  rest  by  some  of  the 
pranks  with  which  dear,  dirty,  naughty  little  rascals  dis¬ 
tract  and  delight  their  parents’  souls. 

Meg  made  many  moral  rules,  and  tried  to  keep  them ; 
but  what  mother  was  ever  proof  against  the  winning  wiles, 
the  ingenious  evasions,  or  the  tranquil  audacity  of  the 
miniature  men  and  women  who  so  early  show  themselves 
accomplished  Artful  Dodgers? 

“No  more  raisins,  Demi,  they  ’ll  make  you  sick,”  says 
mamma  to  the  young  person  who  offers  his  services  in  the 
kitchen  with  unfailing  regularity  on  plum-pudding  day. 

“  Me  likes  to  be  sick.” 

“  I  don’t  want  to  have  you,  so  run  away  and  help 
Daisy  make  patty-cakes.” 

He  reluctantly  departs,  but  his  wrongs  weigh  upon  his 
spirit;  and,  by  and  by,  when  an  opportunity  comes  to 
redness  them,  he  outwits  mamma  by  a  shrewd  bargain. 


Little  Women 


584 

“  Now  you  have  been  good  children,  and  I  ’ll  play  any¬ 
thing  you  like,”  says  Meg,  as  she  leads  her  assistant  cooks 
upstairs,  when  the  pudding  is  safely  bouncing  in  the  pot. 

“Truly,  marmar?”  asks  Demi,  with  a  brilliant  idea  in 
his  well-powdered  head. 

“Yes,  truly;  anything  you  say,”  replies  the  short¬ 
sighted  parent,  preparing  herself  to  sing  “  The  Three 
Little  Kittens  ”  half  a  dozen  times  over,  or  to  take  her 
family  to  “  Buy  a  penny  bun,”  regardless  of  wind  or  limb. 
But  Demi  corners  her  by  the  cool  reply,  — 

“  Then  we  ’ll  go  and  eat  up  all  the  raisins.” 

Aunt  Dodo  was  chief  playmate  and  confidante  of  both 
children,  and  the  trio  turned  the  little  house  topsy-turvy. 
Aunt  Amy  was  as  yet  only  a  name  to  them,  Aunt  Beth 
soon  faded  into  a  pleasantly  vague  memory,  but  Aunt 
Dodo  was  a  living  reality,  and  they  made  the  most  of  her, 
for  which  compliment  she  was  deeply  grateful.  But  when 
Mr.  Bhaer  came,  Jo  neglected  her  playfellows,  and  dis¬ 
may  and  desolation  fell  upon  their  little  souls.  Daisy, 
who  was  fond  of  going  about  peddling  kisses,  lost  her 
best  customer  and  became  bankrupt;  Demi,  with  infantile 
penetration,  soon  discovered  that  Dodo  liked  to  play  with 
“the  bear-man”  better  than  she  did  with  him;  but, 
though  hurt,  he  concealed  his  anguish,  for  he  had  n’t  the 
heart  to  insult  a  rival  who  kept  a  mine  of  chocolate-drops 
in  his  waistcoat-pocket,  and  a  watch  that  could  be  taken 
out  of  its  case  and  freely  shaken  by  ardent  admirers. 

Some  persons  might  have  considered  these  pleasing 
liberties  as  bribes;  but  Demi  did  n’t  see  it  in  that  light, 
and  continued  to  patronize  the  “  bear-man  ”  with  pen¬ 
sive  affability,  while  Daisy  bestowed  her  small  affections 
upon  him  at  the  third  call,  and  considered  his  shoulder 
her  throne,  his  arm  her  refuge,  his  gifts  treasures  of  sur¬ 
passing  worth. 


Daisy  and  Demi  585 

Gentlemen  are  sometimes  seized  with  sudden  fits  of 
admiration  for  the  young  relatives  of  ladies  whom  they 
honor  with  their  regard ;  but  this  counterfeit  philopro¬ 
genitiveness  sits  uneasily  upon  them,  and  does  not  de¬ 
ceive  anybody  a  particle.  Mr.  Bhaer’s  devotion  was 
sincere,  however  likewise  effective,  —  for  honesty  is  the 
best  policy  in  love  as  in  law ;  he  was  one  of  the  men 
who  are  at  home  with  children,  and  looked  particularly 
well  when  little  faces  made  a  pleasant  contrast  with  his 
manly  one.  His  business,  whatever  it  was,  detained 
him  from  day  to  day,  but  evening  seldom  failed  to  bring 
him  out  to  see  —  well,  he  always  asked  for  Mr.  March, 
so  I  suppose  he  was  the  attraction.  The  excellent  papa 
labored  under  the  delusion  that  he  was,  and  revelled  in 
long  discussions  with  the  kindred  spirit,  till  a  chance  re¬ 
mark  of  his  more  observing  grandson  suddenly  enlight¬ 
ened  him. 

Mr.  Bhaer  came  in  one  evening  to  pause  on  the  thresh¬ 
old  of  the  study,  astonished  by  the  spectacle  that  met  his 
eye.  Prone  upon  the  floor  lay  Mr.  March,  with  his  re¬ 
spectable  legs  in  the  air,  and  beside  him,  likewise  prone, 
was  Demi,  trying  to  imitate  the  attitude  with  his  own 
short,  scarlet-stockinged  legs,  both  grovellers  so  seriously 
absorbed  that  they  were  unconscious  of  spectators,  till 
Mr.  Bhaer  laughed  his  sonorous  laugh,  and  Jo  cried  out, 
with  a  scandalized  face,  — 

“Father,  father,  here  ’s  the  Professor!  ” 

Down  went  the  blacklegs  and  up  came  the  gray  head, 
as  the  preceptor  said,  with  undisturbed  dignity, — 

“  Good  evening,  Mr.  Bhaer.  Excuse  me  for  a  moment ; 
we  are  just  finishing  our  lesson.  Now,  Demi,  make  the 
letter  and  tell  its  name.” 

“  I  knows  him  !  ”  and,  after  a  few  convulsive  efforts, 
the  red  legs  took  the  shape  of  a  pair  of  compasses,  and 


Little  Women 


5  86 

the  intelligent  pupil  triumphantly  shouted,  “  It ’s  a  We, 
dranpa,  it ’s  a  We  !  ” 

“  He ’s  a  born  Weller,”  laughed  Jo,  as  her  parent  gath¬ 
ered  himself  up,  and  her  nephew  tried  to  stand  on  his 
head,  as  the  only  mode  of  expressing  his  satisfaction 
that  school  was  over. 

“What  have  you  been  at  to-day,  biibchen  ?”  asked 
Mr.  Bhaer,  picking  up  the  gymnast. 

“  Me  went  to  see  little  Mary.” 

“  And  what  did  you  there?” 

“  I  kissed  her,”  began  Demi,  with  artless  frankness. 

“  Prut !  thou  beginnest  early.  What  did  the  little  Mary 
say  to  that?  ”  asked  Mr.  Bhaer,  continuing  to  confess  the 
young  sinner,  who  stood  upon  his  knee,  exploring  the 
waistcoat-pocket. 

“Oh,  she  liked  it,  and  she  kissed  me,  and  I  liked  it. 
Don't  little  boys  like  little  girls?  ”  added  Demi,  with  his 
mouth  full,  and  an  air  of  bland  satisfaction. 

“You  precocious  chick!  Who  put  that  into  your 
head?”  said  Jo,  enjoying  the  innocent  revelations  as 
much  as  the  Professor. 

“  ’T  is  n’t  in  mine  head  ;  it ’s  in  mine  mouf,”  answered 
literal  Demi,  putting  out  his  tongue,  with  a  chocolate- 
drop  on  it,  thinking  she  alluded  to  confectionery,  not 
ideas. 

“  Thou  shouldst  save  some  for  the  little  friend  :  sweets 
to  the  sweet,  mannling ;  ”  and  Mr.  Bhaer  offered  Jo  some, 
with  a  look  that  made  her  wonder  if  chocolate  was  not 
the  nectar  drunk  by  the  gods.  Demi  also  saw  the  smile, 
was  impressed  by  it,  and  artlessly  inquired, — 

“  Do  great  boys  like  great  girls,  too,  ’Fessor?  ” 

Like  young  Washington,  Mr.  Bhaer  “  could  n’t  tell  a 
lie ;  ”  so  he  gave  the  somewhat  vague  reply  that  he  be¬ 
lieved  they  did  sometimes,  in  a  tone  that  made  Mr.  March 


Under  the  Umbrella 


587 

put  down  his  clothes-brush,  glance  at  Jo’s  retiring  face, 
and  then  sink  into  his  chair,  looking  as  if  the  “  precocious 
chick  ”  had  put  an  idea  into  his  head  that  was  both  sweet 
and  sour. 

Why  Dodo,  when  she  caught  him  in  the  china-closet 
half  an  hour  afterward,  nearly  squeezed  the  breath  out 
of  his  little  body  with  a  tender  embrace,  instead  of  shak¬ 
ing  him  for  being  there,  and  why  she  followed  up  this 
novel  performance  by  the  unexpected  gift  of  a  big  slice 
of  bread  and  jelly,  remained  one  of  the  problems  over 
which  Demi  puzzled  his  small  wits,  and  was  forced  to 
leave  unsolved  forever. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

UNDER  THE  UMBRELLA 

WHILE  Laurie  and  Amy  were  taking  conjugal 
strolls  over  velvet  carpets,  as  they  set  their 
house  in  order,  and  planned  a  blissful  future, 
Mr.  Bhaer  and  jo  were  enjoying  promenades  of  a  differ¬ 
ent  sort,  along  muddy  roads  and  sodden  fields. 

“  I  always  do  take  a  walk  toward  evening,  and  I  don’t 
know  why  I  should  give  it  up,  just  because  I  often 
happen  to  meet  the  Professor  on  his  way  out,”  said  Jo 
to  herself,  after  two  or  three  encounters ;  for,  though 
there  were  two  paths  to  Meg’s,  which  ever  one  she  took 
she  was  sure  to  meet  him,  either  going  or  returning.  He 
was  always  walking  rapidly,  and  never  seemed  to  see 
her  till  quite  close,  when  he  would  look  as  if  his  short¬ 
sighted  eyes  had  failed  to  recognize  the  approaching 
lady  till  that  moment.  Then,  if  she  was  going  to  Meg’s, 
he  always  had  something  for  the  babies ;  if  her  face 


Little  Women 


588 

was  turned  homeward,  he  had  merely  strolled  down  to 
see  the  river,  and  was  just  about  returning,  unless  they 
were  tired  of  his  frequent  calls. 

Under  the  circumstances,  what  could  Jo  do  but  greet 
him  civilly,  and  invite  him  in?  If  she  was  tired  of  his 
visits,  she  concealed  her  weariness  with  perfect  skill, 
and  took  care  that  there  should  be  coffee  for  supper, 
“  as  Friedrich  —  I  mean  Mr.  Bhaer  —  does  n’t  like  tea.” 

By  the  second  week,  every  one  knew  perfectly  well 
what  was  going  on,  yet  every  one  tried  to  look  as  if 
they  were  stone-blind  to  the  changes  in  Jo’s  face.  They 
never  asked  why  she  sang  about  her  work,  did  up  her 
hair  three  times  a  day,  and  got  so  blooming  with  her 
evening  exercise ;  and  no  one  seemed  to  have  the 
slightest  suspicion  that  Professor  Bhaer,  while  talking 
philosophy  with  the  father,  was  giving  the  daughter 
lessons  in  love. 

Jo  could  n’t  even  lose  her  heart  in  a  decorous  manner, 
but  sternly  tried  to  quench  her  feelings;  and,  failing  to 
do  so,  led  a  somewhat  agitated  life.  She  was  mortally 
afraid  of  being  laughed  at  for  surrendering,  after  her 
many  and  vehement  declarations  of  independence. 
Laurie  was  her  especial  dread  ;  but,  thanks  to  the  new 
manager,  he  behaved  with  praiseworthy  propriety,  never 
called  Mr.  Bhaer  “  a  capital  old  fellow”  in  public,  never 
alluded,  in  the  remotest  manner,  to  Jo’s  improved  ap¬ 
pearance,  or  expressed  the  least  surprise  at  seeing  the 
Professor’s  hat  on  the  Marchs’  hall-table  nearly  every 
evening.  But  he  exulted  in  private  and  longed  for  the 
time  to  come  when  he  could  give  Jo  a  piece  of  plate, 
with  a  bear  and  a  ragged  staff  on  it  as  an  appropriate 
coat-of-arms. 

For  a  fortnight,  the  Professor  came  and  went  with 
lover-like  regularity;  then  he  stayed  away  for  three 


Under  the  Umbrella  589 

whole  days,  and  made  no  sign,  —  a  proceeding  which 
caused  everybody  to  look  sober,  and  Jo  to  become  pen¬ 
sive,  at  first,  and  then  —  alas  for  romance  !  —  very  cross. 

“  Disgusted,  I  dare  say,  and  gone  home  as  suddenly 
as  he  came.  It ’s  nothing  to  me,  of  course  ;  but  I  should 
think  he  would  have  come  and  bid  us  good-by,  like  a 
gentleman,”  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  despairing  look 
at  the  gate,  as  she  put  on  her  things  for  the  customary 
walk,  one  dull  afternoon. 

“  You  ’d  better  take  the  little  umbrella,  dear;  it  looks 
like  rain,”  said  her  mother,  observing  that  she  had  on 
her  new  bonnet,  but  not  alluding  to  the  fact. 

“Yes,  Marmee;  do  you  want  anything  in  town? 
I  ’ve  got  to  run  in  and  get  some  paper,”  returned  Jo, 
pulling  out  the  bow  under  her  chin  before  the  glass  as 
an  excuse  for  not  looking  at  her  mother. 

“  Yes;  I  want  some  twilled  silesia,  a  paper  of  number 
nine  needles,  and  two  yards  of  narrow  lavender  ribbon. 
Have  you  got  your  thick  boots  on,  and  something  warm 
under  your  cloak?  ” 

“  I  believe  so,”  answered  Jo  absently. 

“  If  you  happen  to  meet  Mr.  Bhaer,  bring  him  home 
to  tea.  I  quite  long  to  see  the  dear  man,”  added  Mrs. 
March. 

Jo  heard  that ,  but  made  no  answer,  except  to  kiss 
her  mother,  and  walk  rapidly  away,  thinking  with  a  glow 
of  gratitude,  in  spite  of  her  heartache,  — 

“  How  good  she  is  to  me  !  What  do  girls  do  who 
have  n’t  any  mothers  to  help  them  through  their 
troubles?  ” 

The  dry-goods  stores  were  not  down  among  the 
counting-houses,  banks,  and  wholesale  warerooms,  where 
gentlemen  most  do  congregate;  but  Jo  found  herself  in 
that  part  of  the  city  before  she  did  a  single  errand,  loi- 


Little  Women 


59° 

tering  along  as  if  waiting  for  some  one,  examining 
engineering  instruments  in  one  window  and  samples 
of  wool  in  another,  with  most  unfeminine  interest ; 
tumbling  over  barrels,  being  half-smothered  by  descend¬ 
ing  bales,  and  hustled  unceremoniously  by  busy  men 
who  looked  as  if  they  wondered  “  how  the  deuce  she 
got  there.”  A  drop  of  rain  on  her  cheek  recalled  her 
thoughts  from  baffled  hopes  to  ruined  ribbons  ;  for  the 
drops  continued  to  fall,  and,  being  a  woman  as  well  as  a 
lover,  she  felt  that,  though  it  was  too  late  to  save  her 
heart,  she  might  her  bonnet.  Now  she  remembered  the 
little  umbrella,  which  she  had  forgotten  to  take  in  her 
hurry  to  be  off;  but  regret  was  unavailing,  and  nothing 
could  be  done  but  borrow  one  or  submit  to  a  drenching. 
She  looked  up  at  the  lowering  sky,  down  at  the  crimson 
bow  already  flecked  with  black,  forward  along  the 
muddy  street,  then  one  long,  lingering  look  behind,  at  a 
certain  grimy  warehouse,  with  “  Hoffmann,  Swartz,  & 
Co.”  over  the  door,  and  said  to  herself,  with  a  sternly 
reproachful  air,  — 

“  It  serves  me  right !  What  business  had  I  to  put  on 
all  my  best  things  and  come  philandering  down  here, 
hoping  to  see  the  Professor?  Jo,  I  ’m  ashamed  of  you  ! 
No,  you  shall  not  go  there  to  borrow  an  umbrella,  or 
find  out  where  he  is,  from  his  friends.  You  shall  trudge 
away,  and  do  your  errands  in  the  rain  ;  and  if  you  catch 
your  death  and  ruin  your  bonnet,  it ’s  no  more  than  you 
deserve.  Now  then  !  ” 

With  that  she  rushed  across  the  street  so  impetuously 
that  she  narrowly  escaped  annihilation  from  a  passing 
truck,  and  precipitated  herself  into  the  arms  of  a  stately 
old  gentleman,  who  said,  “  I  beg  pardon,  ma’am,”  and 
looked  mortally  offended.  Somewhat  daunted,  Jo  righted 
herself,  spread  her  handkerchief  over  the  devoted  rib- 


Under  the  Umbrella  591 

bons,  and,  putting  temptation  behind  her,  hurried  on, 
with  increasing  dampness  about  the  ankles,  and  much 
clashing  of  umbrellas  overhead.  The  fact  that  a  some¬ 
what  dilapidated  blue  one  remained  stationary  above 
the  unprotected  bonnet,  attracted  her  attention ;  and, 
looking  up,  she  saw  Mr.  Bhaer  looking  down. 

“  I  feel  to  know  the  strong-minded  lady  who  goes  so 
bravely  under  many  horse-noses,  and  so  fast  through 
much  mud.  What  do  you  down  here,  my  friend?  ” 

“  I ’m  shopping.” 

Mr.  Bhaer  smiled,  as  he  glanced  from  the  pickle-fac¬ 
tory  on  one  side,  to  the  wholesale  hide  and  leather 
concern  on  the  other ;  but  he  only  said  politely,  — 

“  You  haf  no  umbrella.  May  I  go  also,  and  take  for 
you  the  bundles  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  thank  you.” 

Jo’s  cheeks  were  as  red  as  her  ribbon,  and  she  won¬ 
dered  what  he  thought  of  her ;  but  she  did  n’t  care,  for 
in  a  minute  she  found  herself  walking  away  arm-in-arm 
with  her  Professor,  feeling  as  if  the  sun  had  suddenly 
burst  out  with  uncommon  brilliancy,  that  the  world  was 
all  right  again,  and  that  one  thoroughly  happy  woman 
was  paddling  through  the  wet  that  day. 

“  We  thought  you  had  gone,”  said  Jo  hastily,  for  she 
knew  he  was  looking  at  her.  Her  bonnet  was  n’t  big 
enough  to  hide  her  face,  and  she  feared  he  might  think 
the  joy  it  betrayed  unmaidenly. 

“  Did  you  believe  that  I  should  go  with  no  farewell  to 
those  who  haf  been  so  heavenly  kind  to  me?  ”  he  asked 
so  reproachfully  that  she  felt  as  if  she  had  insulted  him 
by  the  suggestion,  and  answered  heartily, — 

“No,  I  did  n’t;  I  knew  you  were  busy  about  your 
own  affairs,  but  we  rather  missed  you,  —  father  and 
mother  especially.” 


Little  Women 


5  92 

“  And  you  ?  ” 

“  I  ’m  always  glad  to  see  you,  sir.” 

In  her  anxiety  to  keep  her  voice  quite  calm,  Jo  made 
it  rather  cool,  and  the  frosty  little  monosyllable  at  the 
end  seemed  to  chill  the  Professor,  for  his  smile  vanished, 
as  he  said  gravely,  — 

“  I  thank  you,  and  come  one  time  more  before  I  go.” 

“  You  are  going,  then?  ” 

“  I  haf  no  longer  any  business  here ;  it  is  done.” 

“  Successfully,  I  hope?  ”  said  Jo,  for  the  bitterness  of 
disappointment  was  in  that  short  reply  of  his. 

“  I  ought  to  think  so,  for  I  haf  a  way  opened  to  me 
by  which  I  can  make  my  bread  and  gif  myjunglings 
much  help.” 

“  Tell  me,  please  !  I  like  to  know  all  about  the  — the 
boys,”  said  Jo  eagerly. 

“  That  is  so  kind,  I  gladly  tell  you.  My  friends 
find  for  me  a  place  in  a  college,  where  I  teach  as  at 
home,  and  earn  enough  to  make  the  way  smooth  for 
Franz  and  Emil.  For  this  I  should  be  grateful,  should 
I  not?” 

“  Indeed  you  should.  How  splendid  it  will  be  to 
have  you  doing  what  you  like,  and  be  able  to  see  you 
often,  and  the  boys  !  ”  cried  Jo,  clinging  to  the  lads  as 
an  excuse  for  the  satisfaction  she  could  not  help  be¬ 
traying. 

“  Ah  !  but  we  shall  not  meet  often,  I  fear ;  this  place 
is  at  the  West.” 

“  So  far  away !  ”  and  Jo  left  her  skirts  to  their  fate,  as 
if  it  did  n’t  matter  now  what  became  of  her  clothes  or 
herself. 

Mr.  Bhaer  could  read  several  languages,  but  he  had 
not  learned  to  read  women  yet.  He  flattered  himself 
that  he  knew  Jo  pretty  well,  and  was,  therefore,  much 


Under  the  Umbrella  593 

amazed  by  the  contradictions  of  voice,  face,  and  manner, 
which  she  showed  him  in  rapid  succession  that  day,  for 
she  was  in  half  a  dozen  different  moods  in  the  course  of 
half  an  hour.  When  she  met  him  she  looked  surprised, 
though  it  was  impossible  to  help  suspecting  that  she  had 
come  for  that  express  purpose.  When  he  offered  her 
his  arm,  she  took  it  with  a  look’  that  filled  him  with  de¬ 
light;  but  when  he  asked  if  she  missed  him,  she  gave 
such  a  chilly,  formal  reply  that  despair  fell  upon  him. 
On  learning  his  good  fortune  she  almost  clapped  her 
hands:  was  the  joy  all  for  the  boys?  Then,  on  hearing 
his  destination,  she  said,  “  So  far  away !  ”  in  a  tone  of 
despair  that  lifted  him  on  to  a  pinnacle  of  hope  ;  but  the 
next  minute  she  tumbled  him  down  again  by  observing, 
like  one  entirely  absorbed  in  the  matter,  — 

“  Here’s  the  place  for  my  errands;  will  you  come  in? 
It  won’t  take  long.” 

Jo  rather  prided  herself  upon  her  shopping  capabilities, 
and  particularly  wished  to  impress  her  escort  with  the 
neatness  and  despatch  with  which  she  would  accomplish 
the  business.  But,  owing  to  the  flutter  she  was  in, 
everything  went  amiss ;  she  upset  the  tray  of  needles, 
forgot  the  silesia  was  to  be  “  twilled  ”  till  it  was  cut  off, 
gave  the  wrong  change,  and  covered  herself  with  confu¬ 
sion  by  asking  for  lavender  ribbon  at  the  calico  counter. 
Mr.  Bhaer  stood  by,  watching  her  blush  and  blunder; 
and,  as  he  watched,  his  own  bewilderment  seemed  to 
subside,  for  he  was  beginning  to  see  that  on  some  occa¬ 
sions  women,  like  dreams,  go  by  contraries. 

When  they  came  out,  he  put  the  parcel  under  his 
arm  with  a  more  cheerful  aspect,  and  splashed  through 
the  puddles  as  if  he  rather  enjoyed  it,  on  the  whole. 

“  Should  we  not  do  a  little  what  you  call  shopping  for 
the  babies,  and  haf  a  farewell  feast  to-night  if  I  go  for  my 

38  • 


Little  Women 


594 

last  call  at  your  so  pleasant  home?  ”  he  asked,  stopping 
before  a  window  full  of  fruit  and  flowers. 

“  What  will  we  buy?  ”  said  Jo,  ignoring  the  latter  part 
of  his  speech,  and  sniffing  the  mingled  odors  with  an 
affectation  of  delight  as  they  went  in. 

“May  they  haf  oranges  and  figs?”  asked  Mr.  Bhaer, 
with  a  paternal  air. 

“  They  eat  them  when  they  can  get  them.” 

“  Do  you  care  for  nuts?  ” 

“  Like  a  squirrel.” 

“  Hamburg  grapes ;  yes,  we  shall  surely  drink  to  the 
Fatherland  in  those?” 

Jo  frowned  upon  that  piece  of  extravagance,  and 
asked  why  he  did  n’t  buy  a  frail  of  dates,  a  cask  of  raisins, 
and  a  bag  of  almonds,  and  dene  with  it?  Whereat  Mr. 
Bhaer  confiscated  her  purse,  produced  his  own,  and  fin¬ 
ished  the  marketing  by  buying  several  pounds  of  grapes, 
a  pot  of  rosy  daisies,  and  a  pretty  jar  of  honey,  to  be 
regarded  in  the  light  of  a  demijohn.  Then,  distorting 
his  pockets  with  the  knobby  bundles,  and  giving  her  the 
flowers  to  hold,  he  put  up  the  old  umbrella,  and  they 
travelled  on  again. 

“  Miss  Marsch,  I  haf  a  great  favor  to  ask  of  you,” 
began  the  Professor,  after  a  moist  promenade  of  half  a 
block. 

“Yes,  sir;  ”  and  Jo’s  heart  began  to  beat  so  hard  she 
was  afraid  he  would  hear  it. 

“  I  am  bold  to  say  it  in  spite  of  the  rain,  because  so 
short  a  time  remains  to  me.” 

“Yes,  sir;  ”  and  Jo  nearly  crushed  the  small  flower¬ 
pot  with  the  sudden  squeeze  she  gave  it. 

“  I  wish  to  get  a  little  dress  for  my  Tina,  and  I  am 
too  stupid  to  go  alone.  Will  you  kindly  gif  me  a  word 
of  taste  and  help  ?  ” 


Under  the  Umbrella 


595 

“Yes,  sir;  ”  and  Jo  felt  as  calm  and  cool,  all  of  a  sud¬ 
den,  as  if  she  had  stepped  into  a  refrigerator. 

“  Perhaps  also  a  shawl  for  Tina’s  mother,  she  is  so 
poor  and  sick,  and  the  husband  is  such  a  care.  Yes, 
yes,  a  thick,  warm  shawl  would  be  a  friendly  thing  to 
take  the  little  mother.” 

“  I  ’ll  do  it  with  pleasure,  Mr.  Bhaer.  I ’m  going  very 
fast  and  he ’s  getting  dearer  every  minute,”  added  Jo  to 
herself;  then,  with  a  mental  shake,  she  entered  into  the 
business  with  an  energy  which  was  pleasant  to  behold. 

Mr.  Bhaer  left  it  all  to  her,  so  she  chose  a  pretty 
gown  for  Tina,  and  then  ordered  out  the  shawls.  The 
clerk,  being  a  married  man,  condescended  to  take  an 
interest  in  the  couple,  who  appeared  to  be  shopping  for 
their  family. 

“  Your  lady  may  prefer  this;  it’s  a  superior  article,  a 
most  desirable  color,  quite  chaste  and  genteel,”  he  said, 
shaking  out  a  comfortable  gray  shawl,  and  throwing  it 
over  Jo’s  shoulders. 

“  Does  this  suit  you,  Mr.  Bhaer?  ”  she  asked,  turning 
her  back  to  him,  and  feeling  deeply  grateful  for  the 
chance  of  hiding  her  face. 

“  Excellently  well ;  we  will  haf  it,”  answered  the  Pro¬ 
fessor,  smiling  to  himself  as  he  paid  for  it,  while  Jo 
continued  to  rummage  the  counters  like  a  confirmed 
bargain-hunter. 

“  Now  shall  we  go  home?”  he  asked,  as  if  the  words 
were  very  pleasant  to  him. 

“Yes;  it’s  late,  and  I’m  so  tired.”  Jo’s  voice  was 
more  pathetic  than  she  knew;  for  now  the  sun  seemed 
to  have  gone  in  as  suddenly  as  it  came  out,  the  world 
grew  muddy  and  miserable  again,  and  for  the  first 
time  she  discovered  that  her  feet  were  cold,  her  head 
ached,  and  that  her  heart  was  colder  than  the  former, 


Little  Women 


5  96 

fuller  of  pain  than  the  latter.  Mr.  Bhaer  was  going 
away ;  he  only  cared  for  her  as  a  friend ;  it  was  all  a 
mistake,  and  the  sooner  it  was  over  the  better.  With 
this  idea  in  her  head,  she  hailed  an  approaching  omni¬ 
bus  with  such  a  hasty  gesture  that  the  daisies  flew  out  of 
the  pot  and  were  badly  damaged. 

“  This  is  not  our  omniboos,”  said  'the  Professor,  waving 
the  loaded  vehicle  away,  and  stopping  to  pick  up  the 
poor  little  flowers. 

“  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  did  n’t  see  the  name  distinctly. 
Never  mind,  I  can  walk.  I ’m  used  to  plodding  in  the 
mud,”  returned  Jo,  winking  hard,  because  she  would 
have  died  rather  than  openly  wipe  her  eyes. 

Mr.  Bhaer  saw  the  drops  on  her  cheeks,  though  she 
turned  her  head  away;  the  sight  seemed  to  touch  him 
very  much,  for,  suddenly  stooping  down,  he  asked  in  a 
tone  that  meant  a  great  deal, — 

“  Heart’s  dearest,  why  do  you  cry?  ” 

Now,  if  Jo  had  not  been  new  to  this  sort  of  thing  she 
would  have  said  she  was  n’t  crying,  had  a  cold  in  her 
head,  or  told  any  other  feminine  fib  proper  to  the  occa¬ 
sion  ;  instead  of  which  that  undignified  creature  an¬ 
swered,  with  an  irrepressible  sob, — 

“  Because  you  are  going  away.” 

“  Ach,  mein  Gott,  that  is  so  good  !  ”  cried  Mr.  Bhaer, 
managing  to  clasp  his  hands  in  spite  of  the  umbrella 
and  the  bundles.  “Jo,  I  haf  nothing  but  much  love  to 
gif  you ;  I  came  to  see  if  you  could  care  for  it,  and  I 
waited  to  be  sure  that  I  was  something  more  than  a 
friend.  Am  I?  Can  you  make  a  little  place  in  your 
heart  for  old  Fritz?  ”  he  added,  all  in  one  breath. 

“  Oh,  yes!  ”  said  Jo;  and  he  was  quite  satisfied,  foi 
she  folded  both  hands  over  his  arm,  and  looked  up  at 
him  with  an  expression  that  plainly  showed  how  happy 


Under  the  Umbrella 


597 

she  would  be  to  walk  through  life  beside  him,  even 
though  she  had  no  better  shelter  than  the  old  umbrella, 
if  he  carried  it. 

It  was  certainly  proposing  under  difficulties,  for,  even 
if  he  had  desired  to  do  so,  Mr.  Bhaer  could  not  go  down 
upon  his  knees,  on  account  of  the  mud  ;  neither  could 
he  offer  Jo  his  hand,  except  figuratively,  for  both  were 
full;  much  less  could  he  indulge  in  tender  demonstra¬ 
tions  in  the  open  street,  though  he  was  near  it :  so  the 
only  way  in  which  he  could  express  his  rapture  was  to 
look  at  her,  with  an  expression  which  glorified  his  face 
to  such  a  degree  that  there  actually  seemed  to  be  little 
rainbows  in  the  drops  that  sparkled  on  his  beard.  If  he 
had  not  loved  Jo  very  much,  I  don’t  think  he  could  have 
done  it  then,  for  she  looked  far  from  lovely,  with  her 
skirts  in  a  deplorable  state,  her  rubber  boots  splashed 
to  the  ankle,  and  her  bonnet  a  ruin.  Fortunately,  Mr. 
Bhaer  considered  her  the  most  beautiful  woman  living, 
and  she  found  him  more  “Jove-like”  than  ever,  though 
his  hat-brim  was  quite  limp  with  the  little  rills  trickling 
thence  upon  his  shoulders  (for  he  held  the  umbrella 
all  over  Jo),  and  every  finger  of  his  gloves  needed 
mending. 

Passers-by  probably  thought  them  a  pair  of  harmless 
lunatics,  for  they  entirely  forgot  to  hail  a  ’bus,  and  strolled 
leisurely  along,  oblivious  of  deepening  dusk  and  fog. 
Little  they  cared  what  anybody  thought,  for  they  were 
enjoying  the  happy  hour  that  seldom  comes  but  once  in 
any  life,  the  magical  moment  which  bestows  youth  on  the 
old,  beauty  on  the  plain,  wealth  on  the  poor,  and  gives 
human  hearts  a  foretaste  of  heaven.  The  Professor 
looked  as  if  he  had  conquered  a  kingdom,  and  the  world 
had  nothing  more  to  offer  him  in  the  way  of  bliss  ;  while 
Jo  trudged  beside  him,  feeling  as  if  her  place  had  always 


Little  Women 


598 

been  there,  and  wondering  how  she  ever  could  have  chosen 
any  other  lot.  Of  course,  she  was  the  first  to  speak  — 
intelligibly,  I  mean,  for  the  emotional  remarks  which  fol¬ 
lowed  her  impetuous  “  Oh,  yes  !  ”  were  not  of  a  coherent 
or  reportable  character. 

“  Friedrich,  why  did  n’t  you  —  ” 

“  Ah,  heaven,  she  gifs  me  the  name  that  no  one  speaks 
since  Minna  died  !  ”  cried  the  Professor,  pausing  in  a 
puddle  to  regard  her  with  grateful  delight. 

“I  always  call  you  so  to  myself — I  forgot;  but  I 
won’t,  unless  you  like  it.” 

“Like  it?  it  is  more  sweet  to  me  than  I  can  tell. 
Say  ‘  thou,’  also,  and  I  shall  say  your  language  is  almost 
as  beautiful  as  mine.” 

“  Is  n’t  ‘  thou  ’  a  little  sentimental  ?  ”  asked  Jo,  privately 
thinking  it  a  lovely  monosyllable. 

“Sentimental?  Yes.  Thank  Gott,  we  Germans  believe 
in  sentiment,  and  keep  ourselves  young  mit  it.  Your 
English  ‘you’  is  so  cold,  say  ‘thou,’  heart’s  dearest,  it 
means  so  much  to  me,”  pleaded  Mr.  Bhaer,  more  like  a 
romantic  student  than  a  grave  professor. 

“  Well,  then,  why  didn’t  thou  tell  me  all  this  sooner?” 
asked  Jo  bashfully. 

“  Now  I  shall  haf  to  show  thee  all  my  heart,  and  I  so 
gladly  will,  because  thou  must  take  care  of  it  hereafter. 
See,  then,  my  Jo,  —  ah,  the  dear,  funny  little  name  !  —  I 
had  a  wish  to  tell  something  the  day  I  said  good-by,  in 
New  York;  but  I  thought  the  handsome  friend  was 
betrothed  to  thee,  and  so  I  spoke  not.  Wouldst  thou 
have  said  ‘Yes,’  then,  if  I  had  spoken?” 

“  I  don’t  know;  I ’m  afraid  not,  for  I  did  n’t  have  any 
heart  just  then.” 

“  Prut !  that  I  do  not  believe.  It  was  asleep  till  the 
fairy  prince  came  through  the  wood,  and  waked  it  up. 


Under  the  Umbrella  599 

Ah,  well,  ‘  Die  erste  Liebe  ist  die  beste ;  ’  but  that  1 
should  not  expect.” 

“Yes,  the  first  love  is  the  best;  so  be  contented,  for  1 
never  had  another.  Teddy  was  only  a  boy,  and  soon 
got  over  his  little  fancy,”  said  Jo,  anxious  to  correct  the 
Professor’s  mistake. 

“  Good  !  then  I  shall  rest  happy,  and  be  sure  that  thou 
givest  me  all.  I  haf  waited  so  long,  I  am  grown  selfish, 
as  thou  wilt  find,  Professorin.” 

“  I  like  that,”  cried  Jo,  delighted  with  her  new  name. 
“Now  tell  me  what  brought  you,  at  last,  just  when  I 
most  wanted  you  ?  ” 

“This;  ”  and  Mr.  Bhaer  took  a  little  worn  paper  out 
of  his  waistcoat-pocket. 

Jo  unfolded  it,  and  looked  much  abashed,  for  it  was 
one  of  her  own  contributions  to  a  paper  that  paid  for 
poetry,  which  accounted  for  her  sending  it  an  occasional 
attempt. 

“  How  could  that  bring  you?  ”  she  asked,  wondering 
what  he  meant. 

“  I  found  it  by  chance ;  I  knew  it  by  the  names  and 
the  initials,  and  in  it  there  was  one  little  verse  that 
seemed  to  call  me.  Read  and  find  him ;  I  will  see  that 
you  go  not  in  the  wet.” 

Jo  obeyed,  and  hastily  skimmed  through  the  lines 
which  she  had  christened  — 

“IN  THE  GARRET. 

“  Four  little  chests  all  in  a  row, 

Dim  with  dust,  and  worn  by  time, 

All  fashioned  and  filled,  long  ago, 

By  children  now  in  their  prime. 

Four  little  keys  hung  side  by  side, 

With  faded  ribbons,  brave  and  gay 
When  fastened  there,  with  childish  pride, 

Long  ago,  on  a  rainy  day. 


Coo 


Little  Women 


Four  little  names,  one  on  each  lid, 

Carved  out  by  a  boyish  hand, 

And  underneath  there  lieth  hid 
Histories  of  the  happy  band 
Once  playing  here,  and  pausing  oft 
To  hear  the  sweet  refrain, 

That  came  and  went  on  the  roof  aloft, 

In  the  falling  summer  rain. 

“  ‘  Meg’  on  the  first  lid,  smooth  and  fair. 

I  look  in  with  loving  eyes, 

For  folded  here,  with  well-known  care, 

A  goodly  gathering  lies, 

The  record  of  a  peaceful  life,  — 

Gifts  to  gentle  child  and  girl, 

A  bridal  gown,  lines  to  a  wife, 

A  tiny  shoe,  a  baby  curl. 

No  toys  in  this  first  chest  remain, 

For  all  are  carried  away, 

In  their  old  age,  to  join  again 
In  another  small  Meg’s  play. 

Ah,  happy  mother!  well  I  know 
You  hear,  like  a  sweet  refrain, 

Lullabies  ever  soft  and  low 
In  the  falling  summer  rain. 

41 ‘Jo  ’  on  the  next  lid,  scratched  and  worn, 
And  within  a  motley  store 
Of  headless  dolls,  of  school-books  torn, 
Birds  and  beasts  that  speak  no  more  ; 
Spoils  brought  home  from  the  fairy  ground 
Only  trod  by  youthful  feet, 

Dreams  of  a  future  never  found, 

Memories  of  a  past  still  sweet; 

Half-writ  poems,  stories  wild, 

April  letters,  warm  and  cold, 

Diaries  of  a  wilful  child, 

Hints  of  a  woman  early  old  ; 

A  woman  in  a  lonely  home, 

Hearing,  like  a  sad  refrain,  — 

4  Be  worthy  love,  and  love  will  come/ 

In  the  falling  summer  rain. 


Under  the  Umbrella  6oi 


64  My  Beth  !  the  dust  is  always  swept 
From  the  lid  that  bears  your  name, 

As  if  by  loving  eyes  that  wept, 

By  careful  hands  that  often  came. 
Death  canonized  for  us  one  saint, 

Ever  less  human  than  divine, 

And  still  we  lay,  with  tender  plaint, 

Relics  in  this  household  shrine,  — 

The  silver  bell,  so  seldom  rung, 

The  little  cap  which  last  she  wore, 

The  fair,  dead  Catherine  that  hung 
By  angels  borne  above  her  door; 

The  songs  she  sang,  without  lament, 

In  her  prison-house  of  pain, 

Forever  are  they  sweetly  blent 
With  the  falling  summer  rain. 

“  Upon  the  last  lid’s  polished  field  — 
Legend  now  both  fair  and  true  — 

A  gallant  knight  bears  on  his  shield, 
‘Amy,’  in  letters  gold  and  blue. 

Within  lie  snoods  that  bound  her  hair, 
Slippers  that  have  danced  their  last, 
Faded  flowers  laid  by  with  care, 

Fans  whose  airy  toils  are  past ; 

Gay  valentines,  all  ardent  flames, 

Trifles  that  have  borne  their  part 
In  girlish  hopes  and  fears  and  shames,  — 
The  record  of  a  maiden  heart 
Now  learning  fairer,  truer  spells, 

H  earing,  like  a  blithe  refrain, 

The  silver  sound  of  bridal  bells 
In  the  falling  summer  rain. 

64  Four  little  chests  all  in  a  row, 

Dim  with  dust,  and  worn  by  time, 

Four  women,  taught  by  weal  and  woe 
To  love  and  labor  in  their  prime. 

Four  sisters,  parted  for  an  hour, 

None  lost,  one  only  gone  before, 

Made  by  love’s  immortal  power, 

Nearest  and  dearest  evermore. 


6o2 


Little  Women 


Oh,  when  these  hidden  stores  of  ours 
Lie  open  to  the  Father’s  sight, 

May  they  be  rich  in  golden  hours, 

Deeds  that  show  fairer  for  the  light, 

Lives  whose  brave  music  long  shall  ring, 

Like  a  spirit-stirring  strain, 

Souls  that  shall  gladly  soar  and  sing 
In  the  long  sunshine  after  rain. 

“J.  M.” 


“  It ’s  very  bad  poetry,  but  I  felt  it  when  I  wrote  it, 
one  day  when  I  was  very  lonely,  and  had  a  good  cry  on 
a  rag-bag.  I  never  thought  it  would  go  where  it  could 
tell  tales,”  said  Jo,  tearing  up  the  verses  the  Professor 
had  treasured  so  long. 

“  Let  it  go,  it  has  done  its  duty,  and  I  will  haf  a  fresh 
one  when  I  read  all  the  brown  book  in  which  she  keeps 
her  little  secrets,”  said  Mr.  Bhaer,  with  a  smile,  as  he 
watched  the  fragments  fly  away  on  the  wind.  “  Yes,” 
he  added  earnestly,  “  I  read  that,  and  I  think  to  myself, 
She  has  a  sorrow,  she  is  lonely,  she  would  find  comfort 
in  true  love.  I  haf  a  heart  full,  full  for  her;  shall  I  not 
go  and  say,  ‘  If  this  is  not  too  poor  a  thing  to  gif  for 
what  I  shall  hope  to  receive,  take  it  in  Gott’s  name  ’  ?  ” 

“  And  so  you  came  to  find  that  it  was  not  too  poor, 
but  the  one  precious  thing  I  needed,”  whispered  Jo. 

“  I  had  no  courage  to  think  that  at  first,  heavenly  kind 
as  was  your  welcome  to  me.  But  soon  I  began  to  hope, 
and  then  I  said,  ‘  I  will  haf  her  if  I  die  for  it,’  and  so  I 
will !  ”  cried  Mr.  Bhaer,  with  a  defiant  nod,  as  if  the  walls 
of  mist  closing  round  them  were  barriers  which  he  was 
to  surmount  or  valiantly  knock  down. 

Jo  thought  that  was  splendid,  and  resolved  to  be 
worthy  of  her  knight,  though  he  did  not  come  prancing 
on  a  charger  in  gorgeous  array. 

“  What  made  you  stay  away  so  long?”  she  asked 


Under  the  Umbrella 


603 

presently,  finding  it  so  pleasant  to  ask  confidential 
questions  and  get  delightful  answers  that  she  could  not 
keep  silent. 

“  It  was  not  easy,  but  I  could  not  find  the  heart  to  take 
you  from  that  so  happy  home  until  I  could  haf  a  pros¬ 
pect  of  one  to  give  you,  after  much  time,  perhaps,  and 
hard  work.  How  could  I  ask  you  to  gif  up  so  much 
for  a  poor  old  fellow,  who  has  no  fortune  but  a  little 
learning?  ” 

“  I  ’m  glad  you  are  poor ;  I  could  n’t  bear  a  rich 
husband,”  said  Jo  decidedly,  adding,  in  a  softer  tone, 
“  Don’t  fear  poverty;  I ’ve  known  it  long  enough  to  lose 
my  dread,  and  be  happy  working  for  those  I  love ;  and 
don’t  call  yourself  old,  —  forty  is  the  prime  of  life.  I 
could  n’t  help  loving  you  if  you  were  seventy !  ” 

The  Professor  found  that  so  touching  that  he  would 
have  been  glad  of  his  handkerchief,  if  he  could  have  got 
at  it;  as  he  couldn’t,  Jo  wiped  his  eyes  for  him,  and 
said,  laughing,  as  she  took  away  a  bundle  or  two, — 

“  I  may  be  strong-minded,  but  no  one  can  say  I ’m  out 
of  my  sphere  now,  for  woman’s  special  mission  is  sup¬ 
posed  to  be  drying  tears  and  bearing  burdens.  I ’m  to 
carry  my  share,  Friedrich,  and  help  to  earn  the  home. 
Make  up  your  mind  to  that,  or  I  ’ll  never  go,”  she  added 
resolutely,  as  he  tried  to  reclaim  his  load. 

“We  shall  see.  Haf  you  patience  to  wait  a  longtime, 
Jo?  I  must  go  away  and  do  my  work  alone.  I  must 
help  my  boys  first,  because,  even  for  you,  I  may  not 
break  my  word  to  Minna.  Can  you  forgif  that,  and  be 
happy  while  we  hope  and  wait?  ” 

“Yes,  I  know  I  can;  for  we  love  one  another,  and 
that  makes  all  the  rest  easy  to  bear.  I  have  my  duty, 
also,  and  my  work.  I  could  n’t  enjoy  myself  if  I  neg¬ 
lected  them  even  for  you,  so  there ’s  no  need  of  hurry  or 


Little  Women 


604 

impatience.  You  can  do*  your  part  out  West,  I  can  do 
mine  here,  and  both  be  happy  hoping  for  the  best,  and 
leaving  the  future  to  be  as  God  wills.” 

“  Ah  !  thou  gifest  me  such  hope  and  courage,  and  I 
haf  nothing  to  gif  back  but  a  full  heart  and  these  empty 
hands,”  cried  the  Professor,  quite  overcome. 

Jo  never,  never  would  learn  to  be  proper;  for  when 
he  said  that  as  they  stood  upon  the  steps,  she  just  put 
both  hands  into  his,  whispering  tenderly,  “  Not  empty 
now;  ”  and,  stooping  down,  kissed  her  Friedrich  under 
the  umbrella.  It  was  dreadful, ’but  she  would  have  done 
it  if  the  flock  of  draggle-tailed  sparrows  on  the  hedge 
had  been  human  beings,  for  she  was  very  far  gone  in¬ 
deed,  and  quite  regardless  of  everything  but  her  own 
happiness.  Though  it  came  in  such  a  very  simple  guise, 
that  was  the  crowning  moment  of  both  their  lives,  when, 
turning  from  the  night  and  storm  and  loneliness  to  the 
household  light  and  warmth  and  peace  waiting  to  re¬ 
ceive  them,  with  a  glad  “  Welcome  home  !  ”  Jo  led  her 
lover  in,  and  shut  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

HARVEST  TIME 

FOR  a  year  Jo  and  her  Professor  worked  and 
waited,  hoped  and  loved,  met  occasionally,  and 
wrote  such  voluminous  letters  that  the  rise  in 
the  price  of  paper  was  accounted  for,  Laurie  said. 
The  second  year  began  rather  soberly,  for  their  pros¬ 
pects  did  not  brighten,  and  Aunt  March  died  suddenly. 
But  when  their  first  sorrow  was  over,  —  for  they  loved 
the  old  lady  in  spite  of  her  sharp  tongue,  —  they  found 


Harvest  Time 


605 

they  had  cause  for  rejoicing,  for  she  had  left  Plumfield 
to  Jo,  which  made  all  sorts  of  joyful  things  possible. 

“  It ’s  a  fine  old  place,  and  will  bring  a  handsome 
sum ;  for  of  course  you  intend  to  sell  it,”  said  Laurie, 
as  they  were  all  talking  the  matter  over,  some  weeks 
later. 

“  No,  I  don’t,”  was  Jo ’s  decided  answer,  as  she  petted 
the  fat  poodle,  whom  she  had  adopted,  out  of  respect  to 
his  former  mistress. 

“You  don’t  mean  to  live  there?” 

“Yes,  Ido.” 

“But,  my  dear  girl,  it’s  an  immense  house,  and  will 
take  a  power  of  money  to  keep  it  in  order.  The  garden 
and  orchard  alone  need  two  or  three  men,  and  farming 
is  n’t  in  Bhaer’s  line,  I  take  it.” 

“  He  ’ll  try  his  hand  at  it  there,  if  I  propose  it.” 

“  And  you  expect  to  live  on  the  produce  of  the  place? 
Well,  that  sounds  paradisiacal,  but  you  ’ll  find  it  des¬ 
perate  hard  work.” 

“  The  crop  we  are  going  to  raise  is  a  profitable  one ;  ” 
and  Jo  laughed. 

“  Of  what  is  this  fine  crop  to  consist,  ma’am?  ” 

“Boys.  I  want  to  open  a  school  for  little  lads,  —  a 
good,  happy,  homelike  school,  with  me  to  take  care  of 
them,  and  Fritz  to  teach  them.” 

“  There ’s  a  truly  Joian  plan  for  you  !  Is  n’t  that  just 
like  her?”  cried  Laurie,  appealing  to  the  family,  who 
looked  as  much  surprised  as  he. 

“  I  like  it,”  said  Mrs.  March  decidedly. 

“  So  do  I,”  added  her  husband,  who  welcomed  the 
thought  of  a  chance  for  trying  the  Socratic  method  of 
education  on  modern  youth. 

“  It  will  be  an  immense  care  for  Jo,”  said  Meg,  strok¬ 
ing  the  head  of  her  one  all-absorbing  son. 


6o  6 


Little  Women 


“Jo  can  do  it,  and  be  happy  in  it.  It’s  a  splendid 
idea.  Tell  us  all  about  it,”  cried  Mr.  Laurence,  who 
had  been  longing  to  lend  the  lovers  a  hand,  but  knew 
that  they  would  refuse  his  help. 

“  I  knew  you  ’d  stand  by  me,  sir.  Amy  does  too  —  I 
see  it  in  her  eyes,  though  she  prudently  waits  to  turn  it 
over  in  her  mind  before  she  speaks.  Now,  my  dear  peo¬ 
ple,”  continued  Jo  earnestly,  “just  understand  that  this 
is  n’t  a  new  idea  of  mine,  but  a  long-cherished  plan. 
Before  my  Fritz  came,  I  used  to  think  how,  when  I ’d 
made  my  fortune,  and  no  one  needed  me  at  home,  I ’d 
hire  a  big  house,  and  pick  up  some  poor,  forlorn  little 
lads,  who  had  n’t  any  mothers,  and  take  care  of  them, 
and  make  life  jolly  for  them  before  it  was  too  late.  I  see 
so  many  going  to  ruin,  for  want  of  help  at  the  right 
minute ;  I  love  so  to  do  anything  for  them ;  I  seem  to 
feel  their  wants,  and  sympathize  with  their  troubles,  and, 
oh,  I  should  so  like  to  be  a  mother  to  them  !  ” 

Mrs.  March  held  out  her  hand  to  Jo,  who  took  it,  smil¬ 
ing,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  went  on  in  the  old  enthu¬ 
siastic  way,  which  they  had  not  seen  for  a  long  while. 

“I  told  my  plan  to  Fritz  once,  and  he  said  it  was 
just  what  he  would  like,  and  agreed  to  try  it  when  we  got 
rich.  Bless  his  dear  heart,  he ’s  been  doing  it  all  his 
life,  —  helping  poor  boys,  I  mean,  not  getting  rich  ;  that 
he  ’ll  never  be  ;  money  does  n’t  stay  in  his  pocket  long 
enough  to  layup  any.  But  now,  thanks  to  my  good  old 
aunt,  who  loved  me  better  than  I  ever  deserved,  I'm  rich, 
at  least  I  feel  so,  and  we  can  live  at  Plumficld  perfectly 
well,  if  we  have  a  flourishing  school.  -  It’s  just  the  place 
for  boys,  the  house  is  big,  and  the  furniture  strong  and 
plain.  There ’s  plenty  of  room  for  dozens  inside,  and 
splendid  grounds  outside.  They  could  help  in  the  garden 
and  orchard:  such  work  is  healthy,  is  n’t  it,  sir?  Then 


Harvest  Time 


607 

Fritz  can  train  and  teach  in  his  own  way,  and  father  will 
help  him.  I  can  feed  and  nurse  and  pet  and  scold  them  ; 
and  mother  will  be  my  stand-by.  I ’ve  always  longed  for 
lots  of  boys,  and  never  had  enough ;  now  I  can  fill  the 
house  full,  and  revel  in  the  little  dears  to  my  heart’s 
content.  Think  what  luxury,  —  Plumfield  my  own,  and 
a  wilderness  of  boys  to  enjoy  it  with  me  !  ” 

As  Jo  waved  her  hands,  and  gave  a  sigh  of  rapture,  the 
family  went  off  into  a  gale  of  merriment,  and  Mr.  Laurence 
laughed  till  they  thought  he ’d  have  an  apoplectic  fit. 

“  I  don’t  see  anything  funny,”  she  said  gravely,  when 
she  could  be  heard.  “  Nothing  could  be  more  natural  or 
proper  than  for  my  Professor  to  open  a  school,  and  for 
me  to  prefer  to  reside  on  my  own  estate.” 

“  She  is  putting  on  airs  already,”  said  Laurie,  who 
regarded  the  idea  in  the  light  of  a  capital  joke.  “  But 
may  I  inquire  how  you  intend  to  support  the  establish¬ 
ment?  If  all  the  pupils  are  little  ragamuffins,  I ’m  afraid 
your  crop  won’t  be  profitable'  in  a  worldly  sense,  Mrs. 
Bhaer.” 

“  Now  don’t  be  a  wet-blanket,  Teddy.  Of  course  I 
shall  have  rich  pupils,  also,  —  perhaps  begin  with  such 
altogether;  then,  when  I ’ve  got  a  start,  I  can  take  a  rag¬ 
amuffin  or  two,  just  fora  relish.  Rich  people’s  children 
often  need  care  and  comfort,  as  well  as  poor.  I ’ve  seen 
unfortunate  little  creatures  left  to  servants,  or  backward 
ones  pushed  forward,  when  it ’s  real  cruelty.  Some  are 
naughty  through  mismanagement  or  neglect,  and  some 
lose  their  mothers.  Besides,  the  best  have  to  get  through 
the  hobbledehoy  age,  and  that’s  the  very  time  they  need 
most  patience  and  kindness.  People  laugh  at  them,  and 
hustle  them  about,  try  to  keep  them  out  of  sight,  and 
expect  them  to  turn,  all  at  once,  from  pretty  children  into 
fine  young  men.  They  don’t  complain  much,  — plucky 


6o8 


Little  Women 


I 

little  souls,  —  but  they  feel  it.  I ’ve  been  through  some¬ 
thing  of  it,  and  I  know  all  about  it.  I ’ve  a  special  interest 
in  such  young  bears,  and  like  to  show  them  that  I  see  the 
warm,  honest,  well-meaning  boys’  hearts,  in  spite  of  the 
clumsy  arms  and  legs  and  the  topsy-turvy  heads.  I ’ve 
had  experience,  too,  for  have  n’t  I  brought  up  one  boy  to 
be  a  pride  and  honor  to  his  family?  ” 

“  I  ’ll  testify  that  you  tried  to  do  it,”  said  Laurie,  with 
a  grateful  look. 

“  And  I ’ve  succeeded  beyond  my  hopes  ;  for  here  you 
are,  a  steady,  sensible  business  man,  doing  heaps  of  good 
with  your  money,  and  laying  up  the  blessings  of  the  poor, 
instead  of  dollars.  But  you  are  not  merely  a  business 
man:  you  love  good  and  beautiful  things,  enjoy  them 
yourself,  and  let  others  go  halves,  as  you  always  did  in  the 
old  times.  I  am  proud  of  you,  Teddy,  for  you  get  better 
every  year,  and  every  one  feels  it,  though  you  won’t  let 
them  say  so.  Yes,  and  when  I  have  my  flock,  I  ’ll  just 
point  to  you,  and  say,  ‘  There  ’s  your  model,  my  lads.’  ” 

Poor  Laurie  did  n’t  know  where  to  look ;  for,  man 
though  he  was,  something  of  the  old  bashfulness  came 
over  him  as  this  burst  of  praise  made  all  faces  turn 
approvingly  upon  him. 

“  I  say,  Jo,  that ’s  rather  too  much,”  he  began,  just  in 
his  old  boyish  way.  “  You  have  all  done  more  for  me 
than  I  can  ever  thank  you  for,  except  by  doing  my  best 
not  to  disappoint  you.  You  have  rather  cast  me  off 
lately,  Jo,  but  I ’ve  had  the  best  of  help,  nevertheless;  so, 
if  I ’ve  got  on  at  all,  you  may  thank  these  two  for  it ;  and 
he  laid  one  hand  gently  on  his  grandfather’s  white  head, 
the  other  on  Amy’s  golden  one,  for  the  three  were  never 
far  apart.” 

“  I  do  think  that  families  are  the  most  beautiful  things 
in  all  the  world  !  ”  burst  out  Jo,  who  was  in  an  unusually 


Harvest  Time 


609 

uplifted  frame  of  mind  just  then.  “When  I  have  one  of 
my  own,  I  hope  it  will  be  as  happy  as  the  three  I  know 
and  love  the  best.  If  John  and  my  Fritz  wrere  only  here, 
it  would  be  quite  a  little  heaven  on  earth,”  she  added 
more  quietly.  And  that  night,  when  she  went  to  her 
room,  after  a  blissful  evening  of  family  counsels,  hopes, 
and  plans,  her  heart  was  so  full  of  happiness  that  she 
could  only  calm  it  by  kneeling  beside  the  empty  bed 
always  near  her  own,  and  thinking  tender  thoughts  of 
Beth. 

It  was  a  very  astonishing  year  altogether,  for  things 
seemed  to  happen  in  an  unusually  rapid  and  delightful 
manner.  Almost  before  she  knew  where  she  was,  Jo 
found  herself  married  and  settled  at  Plumfield.  Then  a 
family  of  six  or  seven  boys  sprung  up  like  mushrooms, 
and  flourished  surprisingly,  poor  boys  as  well  as  rich  ;  for 
Mr.  Laurence  was  continually  finding  some  touching  case 
of  destitution,  and  begging  the  Bhaers  to  take  pity  on  the 
child,  and  he  would  gladly  pay  a  trifle  for  its  support.  In 
this  wray  the  sly  old  gentleman  got  round  proud  Jo,  and 
furnished  her  with  the  style  of  boy  in  which  she  most 
delighted. 

Of  course  it  was  up-hill  work  at  first,  and  Jo  made  queer 
mistakes;  but  the  wise  Professor  steered  her  safely  into 
calmer  waters,  and  the  most  rampant  ragamuffin  was  con¬ 
quered  in  the  end.  How  Jo  did  enjoy  her“  wilderness  of 
boys,”  and  how  poor,  dear  Aunt  March  would  have  la¬ 
mented  had  she  been  there  to  see  the  sacred  precincts  of 
prim,  well-ordered  Plumfield  overrun  with  Toms,  Dicks, 
and  Harrys  !  There  was  a  sort  of  poetic  justice  about  it, 
after  all,  for  the  old  lady  had  been  the  terror  of  the  boys 
for  miles  round  ;  and  now  the  exiles  feasted  freely  on  for¬ 
bidden  plums,  kicked  up  the  gravel  with  profane  boots  un¬ 
reproved,  and  played  cricket  in  the  big  field  where  the 

39 


Little  Women 


6 1  o 

irritable  “  cow  with  a  crumpled  horn”  used  to  invite  rash 
youths  to  come  and  be  tossed.  It  became  a  sort  of  boys’ 
paradise,  and  Laurie  suggested  that  it  should  be  called  the 
“  Bhaer-garten,”  as  a  compliment  to  its  master  and  appro¬ 
priate  to  its  inhabitants. 

It  never  was  a  fashionable  school,  and  the  Professor  did 
not  lay  up  a  fortune  ;  but  it  was  just  what  Jo  intended  it 
to  be,  —  “  a  happy,  homelike  place  for  boys,  who  needed 
teaching,  care,  and  kindness.”  Every  room  in  the  big 
house  was  soon  full;  every  little  plot  in  the  garden  soon 
had  its  owner ;  a  regular  menagerie  appeared  in  barn  and 
shed,  for  pet  animals  were  allowed  ;  and,  three  times  a 
day,  Jo  smiled  at  her  Fritz  from  the  head  of  along  table 
lined  on  either  side  with  rows  of  happy  young  faces,  which 
all  turned  to  her  with  affectionate  eyes,  confiding  words, 
and  grateful  hearts,  full  of  love  for  “  Mother  Bhaer.”  She 
had  boys  enough  now,  and  did  not  tire  of  them,  though 
they  were  not  angels,  by  any  means,  and  some  of  them 
caused  both  Professor  and  Professorin  much  trouble  and 
anxiety.  But  her  faith  in  the  good  spot  which  exists  in 
the  heart  of  the  naughtiest,  sauciest,  most  tantalizing  little 
ragamuffin  gave  her  patience,  skill,  and,  in  time,  success ; 
for  no  mortal  boy  could  hold  out  long  with  Father  Bhaer 
shining  on  him  as  benevolently  as  the  sun,  and  Mother 
Bhaer  forgiving  him  seventy  times  seven.  Very  precious 
to  Jo  was  the  friendship  of  the  lads;  their  penitent  sniffs 
and  whispers  after  wrong-doing;  their  droll  or  touching 
little  confidences  ;  their  pleasant  enthusiasms,  hopes,  and 
plans ;  even  their  misfortunes,  for  they  only  endeared 
them  to  her  all  the  more.  There  were  slow  boys  and 
bashful  boys ;  feeble  boys  and  riotous  boys ;  boys  that 
lisped  and  boys  that  stuttered  ;  one  or  two  lame  ones ; 
and  a  merry  little  quadroon,  who  could  not  be  taken  in 
elsewhere,  but  who  was  welcome  to  the  “  Bhaer-garten,” 


/ 


v 


Harvest  Time  611 

though  some  people  predicted  that  his  admission  would 
ruin  the  school. 

Yes  ;  Jo  was  a  very  happy  woman  there,  in  spite  of  hard 
work,  much  anxiety,  and  a  perpetual  racket.  She  en¬ 
joyed  it  heartily,  and  found  the  applause  of  her  boys 
more  satisfying  than  any  praise  of  the  world ;  for  now 
she  told  no  stories  except  to  her  flock  of  enthusiastic 
believers  and  admirers.  As  the  years  went  on,  two  little 
lads  of  her  own  came  to  increase  her  happiness,  —  Rob, 
named  for  grandpa,  and  Teddy,  a  happy-go-lucky  baby, 
who  seemed  to  have  inherited  his  papa’s  sunshiny  tem¬ 
per  as  well  as  his  mother’s  lively  spirit.  How  they  ever 
grew  up  alive  in  that  whirlpool  of  boys  was  a  mystery 
to  their  grandma  and  aunts ;  but  they  flourished  like 
dandelions  in  spring,  and  their  rough  nurses  loved  and 
served  them  well. 

There  were  a  great  many  holidays  at  Plumfield,  and 
one  of  the  most  delightful  was  the  yearly  apple-picking; 
for  then  the  Marches,  Laurences,  Brookes,  and  Bhaers 
turned  out  in  full  force,  and  made  a  day  of  it.  Five 
years  after  Jo’s  wedding,  one  of  these  fruitful  festivals 
occurred,  —  a  mellow  October  day,  when  the  air  was 
full  of  an  exhilarating  freshness  which  made  the  spirits 
rise,  and  the  blood  dance  healthily  in  the  veins.  The 
old  orchard  wore  its  holiday  attire ;  golden-rod  and 
asters  fringed  the  mossy  walls;  grasshoppers  skipped 
briskly  in  the  sere  grass,  and  crickets  chirped  like  fairy 
pipers  at  a  feast ;  squirrels  were  busy  with  their  small 
harvesting;  birds  twittered  their  adieux  from  the  alders 
in  the  lane;  and  every  tree  stood  ready  to  send  down 
its  shower  of  red  or  yellow  apples  at  the  first  shake. 
Everybody  was  there ;  everybody  laughed  and  sang, 
climbed  up  and  tumbled  down  ;  everybody  declared  that 
there  never  had  been  such  a  perfect  day  or  such  a  jolly 


Little  Women 


612 

set  to  enjoy  it ;  and  every  one  gave  themselves  up  tc 
the  simple  pleasures  of  the  hour  as  freely  as  if  there 
were  no  such  things  as  care  or  sorrow  in  the  world. 

Mr.  March  strolled  placidly  about,  quoting  Tusser, 
Cowley,  and  Columella  to  Mr.  Laurence,  while  enjoying  — 

“  The  gentle  apple’s  winey  juice.” 

The  Professor  charged  up  and  down  the  green  aisles 
like  a  stout  Teutonic  knight,  with  a  pole  for  a  lance, 
leading  on  the  boys,  who  made  a  hook  and  ladder  com¬ 
pany  of  themselves,  and  performed  wonders  in  the  way 
of  ground  and  lofty  tumbling.  Laurie  devoted  himself 
to  the  little  ones,  rode  his  small  daughter  in  a  bushel- 
basket,  took  Daisy  up  among  the  birds’  nests,  and  kept 
adventurous  Rob  from  breaking  his  neck.  Mrs.  March 
and  Meg  sat  among  the  apple  piles  like  a  pair  of  Po- 
monas,  sorting  the  contributions  that  kept  pouring  in; 
while  Amy,  with  a  beautiful  motherly  expression  in  her 
face,  sketched  the  various  groups,  and  watched  over  one 
pale  lad,  who  sat  adoring  her  with  his  little  crutch  be¬ 
side  him. 

Jo  was  in  her  element  that  day,  and  rushed  about, 
with  her  gown  pinned  up,  her  hat  anywhere  but  on  her 
head,  and  her  baby  tucked  under  her  arm,  ready  for 
any  lively  adventure  which  might  turn  up.  Little  Teddy 
bore  a  charmed  life,  for  nothing  ever  happened  to  him, 
and  Jo  never  felt  any  anxiety  when  he  was  whisked  up 
into  a  tree  by  one  lad,  galloped  off  on  the  back  of  an¬ 
other,  or  supplied  with  sour  russets  by  his  indulgent 
papa,  who  labored  under  the  Germanic  delusion  that 
babies  could  digest  anything,  from  pickled  cabbage  to 
buttons,  nails,  and  their  own  small  shoes.  She  knew 
that  little  Ted  would  turn  up  again  in  time,  safe  and 
rosy,  dirty  and  serene,  and  she  always  received  him 


Harvest  Time  613 

back  with  a  hearty  welcome,  for  Jo  loved  her  babies 
tenderly. 

At  four  o’clock  a  lull  took  place,  and  baskets  re¬ 
mained  empty,  while  the  apple-pickers  rested,  and 
compared  rents  and  bruises.  Then  Jo  and  Meg,  with  a 
detachment  of  the  bigger  boys,  set  forth  the  supper  on 
the  grass,  for  an  out-of-door  tea  was  always  the  crown- 
ing  joy  of  the  day.  The  land  literally  flowed  with  milk 
and  honey  on  such  occasions,  for  the  lads  were  not 
required  to  sit  at  table,  but  allowed  to  partake  of  refresh¬ 
ment  as  they  liked,  —  freedom  being  the  sauce  best 
beloved  by  the  boyish  soul.  They  availed  themselves 
of  the  rare  privilege  to  the  fullest  extent,  for  some  tried 
the  pleasing  experiment  of  drinking  milk  while  standing 
on  their  heads,  others  lent  a  charm  to  leap-frog  by 
eating  pie  in  the  pauses  of  the  game,  cookies  were  sown 
broadcast  over  the  field,  and  apple-turnovers  roosted  in 
the  trees  like  a  new  style  of  bird.  The  little  girls  had  a 
private  tea-party,  and  Ted  roved  among  the  edibles  at 
his  own  sweet  will. 

When  no  one  could  eat  any  more,  the  Professor  pro¬ 
posed  the  first  regular  toast,  which  was  always  drunk  at 
such  times,  — “Aunt  March,  God  bless  her  !  ”  A  toast 
heartily  given  by  the  good  man,  who  never  forgot  how 
much  he  owed  her,  and  quietly  drunk  by  the  boys,  who 
had  been  taught  to  keep  her  memory  green. 

“Now,  grandma’s  sixtieth  birthday!  Long  life  to 
her,  with  three  times  three  !  ” 

That  was  given  with  a  will,  as  you  may  well  believe ; 
and  the  cheering  once  begun,  it  was  hard  to  stop  it. 
Everybody’s  health  was  proposed,  from  Mr.  Laurence, 
who  was  considered  their  special  patron,  to  the  aston¬ 
ished  guinea-pig,  who  had  strayed  from  its  proper 
sphere  in  search  of  its  young  master.  Demi,  as  the 


Little  Women 


614 

oldest  grandchild,  then  presented  the  queen  of  the  day 
with  various  gifts,  so  numerous  that  they  were  trans¬ 
ported  to  the  festive  scene  in  a  wheelbarrow.  Funny 
presents,  some  of  them,  but  what  would  have  been  de¬ 
fects  to  other  eyes  were  ornaments  to  grandma’s,  —  for 
the  children’s  gifts  were  all  their  own.  Every  stitch 
Daisy’s  patient  little  fingers  had  put  into  the  hand¬ 
kerchiefs  she  hemmed  was  better  than  embroidery  to 
Mrs.  March ;  Demi’s  shoe-box  was  a  miracle  of  me¬ 
chanical  skill,  though  the  cover  wouldn’t  shut;  Rob’s 
footstool  had  a  wiggle  in  its  uneven  legs,  that  she 
declared  was  very  soothing ;  and  no  page  of  the  costly 
book  Amy’s  child  gave  her  was  so  fair  as  that  on  which 
appeared,  in  tipsy  capitals,  the  words, — “To  dear 
Grandma,  from  her  little  Beth.” 

During  this  ceremony  the  boys  had  mysteriously  dis¬ 
appeared ;  and,  when  Mrs.  March  had  tried  to  thank  her 
children,  and  broken  down,  while  Teddy  wiped  her  eyes 
on  his  pinafore,  the  Professor  suddenly  began  to  sing. 
Then,  from  above  him,  voice  after  voice  took  up  the 
words,  and  from  tree  to  tree  echoed  the  music  of  the 
unseen  choir,  as  the  boys  sung,  with  all  their  hearts, 
the  little  song  Jo  had  written,  Laurie  set  to  music,  and 
the  Professor  trained  his  lads  to  give  with  the  best  ef¬ 
fect.  This  was  something  altogether  new,  and  it  proved 
a  grand  success;  for  Mrs.  March  couldn’t  get  over  her 
surprise,  and  insisted  on  shaking  hands  with  every  one 
of  the  featherless  birds,  from  tall  Franz  and  Emil  to  the 
little  quadroon,  who  had  the  sweetest  voice  of  all. 

After  this,  the  boys  dispersed  for  a  final  lark,  leaving 
Mrs.  March  and  her  daughters  under  the  festival  tree. 

“  I  don’t  think  I  ever  ought  to  call  myself  ‘  Unlucky 
Jo,’  again,  when  my  greatest  wish  has  been  so  beautifully 
gratified,”  said  Mrs.  Bhaer,  taking  Teddy’s  little  fist 


Harvest  Time  61  $ 

out  of  the  milk-pitcher,  in  which  he  was  rapturously 

churning. 

o 

“  And  yet  your  life  is  very  different  from  the  one  you 
pictured  so  long  ago.  Do  you  remember  our  castles  in 
the  air?”  asked  Amy,  smiling  as  she  watched  Laurie 
and  John  playing  cricket  with  the  boys. 

“  Dear  fellows  !  It  does  my  heart  good  to  see  them 
forget  business,  and  frolic  for  a  day,”  answered  Jo,  who 
now  spoke  in  a  maternal  way  of  all  mankind.  “  Yes,  I 
remember;  but  the  life  I  wanted  then  seems  selfish, 
lonely,  and  cold  to  me  now.  I  have  n’t  given  up  the 
hope  that  I  may  write  a  good  book  yet,  but  I  can  wait, 
and  I  ’m  sure  it  will  be  all  the  better  for  such  experi¬ 
ences  and  illustrations  as  these;  ”  and  Jo  pointed  from 
the  lively  lads  in  the  distance  to  her  father,  leaning  on 
the  Professor’s  arm,  as  they  walked  to  and  fro  in  the 
sunshine,  deep  in  one  of  the  conversations  which  both 
enjoyed  so  much,  and  then  to  her  mother,  sitting  en¬ 
throned  among  her  daughters,  with  their  children  in  her 
lap  and  at  her  feet,  as  if  all  found  help  and  happiness  in 
the  face  which  never  could  grow  old  to  them. 

“  My  castle  was  the  most  nearly  realized  of  all.  I 
asked  for  splendid  things,  to  be  sure,  but  in  my  heart  I 
knew  I  should  be  satisfied,  if  I  had  a  little  home,  and 
John,  and  some  dear  children  like  these.  I  ’ve  got  them 
all,  thank  God,  and  am  the  happiest  woman  in  the 
world  ;  ”  and  Meg  laid  her  hand  on  her  tall  boy’s  head, 
with  a  face  full  of  tender  and  devout  content. 

“  My  castle  is  very  different  from  what  I  planned,  but 
I  would  not  alter  it,  though,  like  Jo,  I  don’t  relinquish 
all  my  artistic  hopes,  or  confine  myself  to  helping  others 
fulfil  their  dreams  of  beauty.  I ’ve  begun  to  model  a 
figure  of  baby,  and  Laurie  says  it  is  the  best  thing  I ’ve 
ever  done.  I  think  so  myself,  and  mean  to  do  it  in 


Little  Women 


6 1 6 

marble,  so  that,  whatever  happens,  I  may  at  least  keep 
the  image  of  my  little  angel/’ 

As  Amy  spoke,  a  great  tear  dropped  on  the  golden 
hair  of  the  sleeping  child  in  her  arms;  for  her  one 
well-beloved  daughter  was  a  frail  little  creature  and  the 
dread  of  losing  her  was  the  shadow  over  Amy’s  sun¬ 
shine.  This  cross  was  doing  much  for  both  father  and 
mother,  for  one  love  and  sorrow  bound  them  closely 
together.  Amy’s  nature  was  growing  sweeter,  deeper, 
and  more  tender ;  Laurie  was  growing  more  serious, 
strong,  and  firm ;  and  both  were  learning  that  beauty, 
youth,  good  fortune,  even  love  itself,  cannot  keep  care 
and  pain,  loss  and  sorrow,  from  the  most  blest ;  for  — 

“  Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 

Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary.” 

“  She  is  growing  better,  I  am  sure  of  it,  my  dear. 
Don’t  despond,  but  hope  and  keep  happy,”  said  Mrs. 
March,  as  tender-hearted  Daisy  stooped  from  her  knee, 
to  lay  her  rosy  cheek  against  her  little  cousin’s  pale  one. 

“  I  never  ought  to,  while  I  have  you  to  cheer  me  up, 
Marmee,  and  Laurie  to  take  more  than  half  of  every 
burden,”  replied  Amy  warmly.  “  He  never  lets  me  see 
his  anxiety,  but  is  so  sweet  and  patient  with  me,  so 
devoted  to  Beth,  and  such  a  stay  and  comfort  to  me 
always,  that  I  can’t  love  him  enough.  So,  in  spite  of 
my  one  cross,  I  can  say  with  Meg,  ‘  Thank  God,  I ’m  a 
happy  woman.’  ” 

“  There ’s  no  need  for  me  to  say  it,  for  every  one  can 
see  that  I ’m  far  happier  than  I  deserve,”  added  Jo, 
glancing  from  her  good  husband  to  her  chubby  chil¬ 
dren,  tumbling  on  the  grass  beside  her.  “Fritz  is 
getting  gray  and  stout;  I  ’m  growing  as  thin  as  a 
s-hadow,  and  am  thirty;  we  never  shall  be  rich,  and 


H  arvest  Time 


6  i  7 

Plumfield  may  burn  up  any  night,  for  that  incorrigible 
Tommy  Bangs  will  smoke  sweet-fern  cigars  under  the 
bed-clothes,  though  he  ’s  set  himself  afire  three  times 
already.  But  in  spite  of  these  unromantic  facts,  I  have 
nothing  to  complain  of,  and  never  was  so  jolly  in  my 
life.  Excuse  the  remark,  but  living  among  boys,  I  can’t 
help  using  their  expressions  now  and  then.” 

“Yes,  Jo,  I  think  your  harvest  will  be  a  good  one,” 
began  Mrs.  March,  frightening  away  a  big  black  cricket 
that  was  staring  Teddy  out  of  countenance. 

“  Not  half  so  good  as  yours,  mother.  Here  it  is,  and 
we  never  can  thank  you  enough  for  the  patient  sowing 
and  reaping  you  have  done,”  cried  Jo,  with  the  loving 
impetuosity  which  she  never  could  outgrow. 

“  I  hope  there  will  be  more  wheat  and  fewer  tares 
every  year,”  said  Amy  softly. 

“  A  large  sheaf,  but  I  know  there ’s  room  in  your 
heart  for  it,  Marmee  dear,”  added  Meg’s  tender  voice. 

Touched  to  the  heart,  Mrs.  March  could  only  stretch 
out  her  arms,  as  if  to  gather  children  and  grandchildren 
to  herself,  and  say,  with  face  and  voice  full  of  motherly 
love,  gratitude,  and  humility, — 

“  O  my  girls,  however  long  you  may  live,  I  never  can 
wish  you  a  greater  happiness  than  this  !  ” 


New  Illustrated  Editions  of 
Miss  Alcott’s  Famous  Stories 


THE  LITTLE  WOMEN  SERIES 

By  Louisa  M.  Alcott.  Illustrated  Edition.  With  eighty-four 
full-page  plates  from  drawings  especially  made  for  this  edition  by 
Reginald  B.  Birch,  Alice  Barber  Stephens,  Jessie  Willcox  Smith, 
and  Harriet  Roosevelt  Richards*  8vols„  Crown  8vcc  Decorated 
cloth,  gilt,  in  box,  $ 16.00  net.  Separately,  $2.00  net. 


1.  LITTLE  MEN:  Life  at  Plumfield  with  Jo's  Boys 

With  15  full-page  illustrations  by  Reginald  B.  Birch. 

2.  LITTLE  WOMEN  :  or  Meg,  Jo,  Beth,  and  Amy 

With  15  full-page  illustrations  by  Alice  Barber  Stephens. 

3.  AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GIRL 

With  12  full-page  pictures  by  Jessie  Willcox  Smith. 

4.  JO’S  BOYS,  and  How  They  Turned  Out 

A  Sequel  to  “  Little  Men.”  With  10 full-page  plates  by  Ellen  Wetherald 
Ahrens. 

5.  EIGHT  COUSINS;  or,  the  Aunt-Hill 

With  8  full-page  pictures  by  Harriet  Roosevelt  Richards. 

6.  ROSE  IN  BLOOM 

A  Sequel  to  “Eight  Cousins.”  With  8  full  page  pictures  by  Harriet 
Roosevelt  Richards. 

7.  UNDER  THE  LILACS 

With  8  original  full-page  pictures  by  Alice  Barber  Stephens. 

8.  JACK  AND  JILL 

With  8  full-page  pictures  from  drawings  by  Harriet  Roosevelt  Richards. 


The  artists  selected  to  illustrate  have  caught  the  spirit  of  the  originals  and  contributed  a 
Series  of  strikingly  beautiful  and  faithful  pictures  of  the  author’s  characters  and  scenes.  — - 
Bos  ion  Herald. 

Alice  Barber  Stephens,  who  is  very  near  the  bead  of  American  illustrators,  has  shown 
wonderful  ability  in  delineating  the  characters  and  costumes  for  “Little  Women.”  They  are 
almost  startlingly  realistic. —  Worcester  Spy. 

Miss  Alcott’s  books  have  never  before  had  such  an  attractive  typographical  dress  as  the 
present.  They  are  printed  in  large  type  on  heavy  paper,  artistically  bound,  and  illustrated 
with  many  full-page  drawings.  —  Philadelphia  Press. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  COMPANY 

Publishers ,  34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


New  Illustrated  Edition  of 
The  Spinning-Wheel  Series 


THE  SPINNING-WHEEL  SERIES 

By  Louisa  M.  Alcott.  New  Illustrated  Edition.  Uniform  in 
size  with  the  Illustrated  Edition  of  The  Little  Women  Series, 
printed  from  entirely  new  plates,  with  new  and  attractive  cover 
design.  4vols.  i2mo.  Decorated  cloth,  in  box,  $6.40  net.  Sep¬ 
arately,  $1.60  net. 

1.  SPINNING-WHEEL  STORIES 

With  8  full-page  pictures  and  vignette  on  titlepage  by  Wm.  A. 
McCullough. 

2.  SILVER  PITCHERS 

With  8  full-page  pictures  and  vignette  on  titlepage  by  J.  W.  F.  Kennedy 

3.  PROVERB  STORIES 

With  8  full-page  pictures  and  vignette  on  titlepage  by  Ethel  Pennewill 
Brown. 

4.  A  GARLAND  FOR  GIRLS 

With  8  full-page  pictures  and  vignette  on  titlepage  by  Clara  E. 
Atwood  and  other  artists. 

FOUR  volumes  of  healthy  and  hearty  stories  so  told  as  to 
fascinate  the  young  people,  while  inculcating  sturdy  courage 
and  kindness  to  the  weak  in  the  boys,  and  in  the  girls  those  virtues 
which  fit  them  for  filling  a  woman’s  place  in  the  home.  The  several 
artists  have  caught  the  spirit  of  the  author  and  have  provided  capital 
illustrations  for  these  new  editions. 

It  is  not  rash  to  say  that  Miss  Alcott’s  stories  were  never  more 
appealing  to  young  readers  than  at  the  present  moment.  In  spite 
of  a  profusion  of  juvenile  fiction,  they  have  steadily  held  their  own  5 
and  they  persistently  refuse,  through  their  inherent  merits,  to  be 
elbowed  aside  by  pretentious  modern  stories  of  unnatural  and  unreal 
childhood  life.  The  very  genuineness  of  character  and  incident, 
the  homely  appeal  to  all  that  is  best  in  young  womanhood  and 
young  manhood,  have  made  “  Little  Men,”  “  Litde  Women,” 
and  their  successors  classics  in  their  kind. —  Boston  Transcript . 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  COMPANY 

fablishert,  34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


* 


/ 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 
AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


PRESENTED  BY 

James  Webb  from  the 
library  of  Lucile 
Kelling  Henderson 


RARE  BOOK  COLLECTION 

PS1017 
.  L5 
1918 


